


The Right Way To Write Love

by RedVelvetWings



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Fix-It, Happy Ending, I hope, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Post-Episode: S8 E4 The Last Of The Starks, because I'm fixing this, who would have thought
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2020-03-09 05:50:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 47,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18910849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedVelvetWings/pseuds/RedVelvetWings
Summary: When Jaime leaves, Brienne throws herself into her work in Winterfell to cope and get her head around the idea that she will never see him again. But then a new revelation has her and Podrick race to King's Landing, to save a city and the man she loves.Jaime, on the other hand, has to face his demons, knowing that his journey to becoming the man Brienne deserves might very well kill him, but he is more than willing to try.A Season 8 Fix-It





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt to write Braime, but after what they have given us this season I was hell-bent on at least trying to fix what I could. 
> 
> A big thank you to [sarashouldbestudying](<a%20href=) over on tumblr who gave her very much appreciated input on this story.

The night air is unbelievably cold, stinging even, through the thick layer of woollen housecoat Brienne had haphazardly thrown on in her hast. She had feared that it would come to this, to him standing in the courtyard of Winterfell, readying his horse, leaving, but she had hoped against her better judgement. Had hoped that what they had had over the last couple of weeks would keep him here - with her. Clearly, she had been wrong.  
  
Brienne takes one step, then another, her arms crossed over her chest against the cold. She knows he knows that she is there, but he still opts to ignore her, busying himself with pulling the last strap of his saddle into place instead of looking at her. She watches him work for a second, standing a few feet apart from him until she can’t take the hovering silence between them any longer and she has to speak.  
  
“You know they are going to destroy that city.” Her voice is a bit off to her own ears when the words come tumbling from her lips, thinking that she’s only got this one chance, if he leaves now, she might never see him again. She feels it in her bones. If he leaves now, this is where it all ends, where they end. She says something else and Jaime is still not looking at her, keeping himself busy with the straps and buckles of his saddle and pouches.

  
“Have you ever run away from a fight?” When he finally speaks, acknowledging her presence, she has had enough. Two long strides and she is next to him, her hands finding their way to frame his face without her thinking, finally making him look at her. When his green eyes meet hers, her resolve strengthens, and she speaks her heart, hoping to make him see that he doesn’t have to do this.  
  
“You are not like your sister. You’re not. You’re better than she is. You’re a good man, and you can’t save her. You don’t need to die with her.” She gets the words out, hoping that this is enough. That this will remind him that he is so much better than his sister, even though she can see in his eyes that it isn’t. So, she does something she had never thought she would ever do, she tells him to stay. “Stay here. Stay with me.” She is close to tears now, she can feel it, as her hopes rapidly dwindle. “Please.” She hasn’t ever in all her life begged someone to stay with her. But she isn’t above that now if it means keeping him here, keeping him safe. So, she chokes out another “Stay” desperate, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. He averts his eyes then, looking to the side, away from her, before his hand reaches up to her wrist.

“You think I’m a good man.”, Jaime says, his eyes meeting hers once more as he pries her hand away from his face. “I put a boy out a tower window, crippled him for life, for Cersei. I strangled my cousin with my own hands, just to get back to Cersei. I would have murdered every man, woman and child in Riverrun, for Cersei.” He looks pained when he says it and Brienne thinks he must be hating himself. Hating the man, he thinks he is, the man Cersei made him, and still, he stands here, in front of her, leaving her for the woman that made him something he hates. Brienne knows she is no match for what they had or have, it seems, and this realisation makes the first tear run over her cheek. “She’s hateful, and so am I.” When those words hit, it’s like someone has taken Oathkeeper and run her through with it, twisting the blade for good measure. The pain of realising that it’s over, that she has lost, is overwhelming, and the tears come streaming down her cheeks unbidden, while she struggles to draw breath.  
  
Brienne hears the clatter and squeak of metal and leather as Jaime mounts his horse and finally the rhythmic thudding of hooves on mud as he rides off into the night, out of Winterfell and out of her life. Sobs shake her as the tears keep falling, her hands clenched into her housecoat at her sides, the only thought on her mind, _I will never see him again._  
  
She stands there for several long minutes as the sobs slowly subside, still staring into the blackness of the night that had swallowed him up. The tears though, keep coming, making rivers down her cheeks, clinging to her chin, running down her neck and throat until they end in the dip of her collarbone, the wool of her coat or the muddy courtyard. When she finally starts to register the stinging coldness of the night air pricking and tearing at her skin, she takes one last look at the darkness and the place where his horse had stood, where he had stood, before she draws her shoulders back and walks away. Walks back to their chambers that show that he had lived there, to the bed that still smells of his lingering scent. She is glad when she doesn’t meet anyone on her trudge back, and her shoulders slump when the door falls shut behind her. The façade she had pulled up, drops away, and there are tears in her eyes as she looks at the room that had been theirs. The bed that had been theirs. Jaime’s side of the bed still made up, hers rumpled, the furs haphazardly thrown back in her hast to follow him. There are two cups on the table from that evening, the decanter of wine they had shared, a shirt, probably one of Jaime’s, hanging out of a trunk in the corner of the room. All signs that it had been real, that he had been here and when she drops down to the bed, pulling the furs back over her, she pulls the pillow from his side of the bed close, inhaling his lingering scent as another tear slips out of the corner of her eyes. _I chose this;_ she tells herself over and over again. She had chosen to let him in, to take what she had wanted for longer than she wants to acknowledge, and there had always been the possibility that it wouldn’t end well. Things never ended well for her, they never had, and they never would. This was just another in a long line of examples proving that very point. She just hadn’t been enough, and Cersei had won out. What she had were only these few last weeks, when she had been allowed to call him hers. When she had kissed him and held him and loved him, and that was more than she had ever hoped for. But that was over now.  
  
_He is going to die,_ that little voice in her head insists. _He is going to die, and there is nothing you can do about it_. No, she couldn’t. Jaime had chosen his side, chosen his death, and it wasn’t with her. She had pledged to stay here, protecting Sansa, he had chosen to go and be with his sister. She couldn’t leave Sansa, even though she loved him. But what good was her loving him anyway when he didn’t want her love, he didn’t want her to save him, he didn’t want _her_ anymore. More tears come, and the hole that had been ripped into her seemed to tear open further and further. _He doesn’t want you to save him. He doesn’t want you to love him. He doesn’t want you._ A strangled little scream escapes her, and she flings his pillow across the room where it smacks satisfyingly against the wall before dropping onto the trunk. The impact of the pillow against the wall rattles the stand with her armour, and she glances over as the stand topples for a second before regaining balance. Oathkeeper glints in the light from the fire in the hearth, golden and red, dark shadows and long-ago memories of happier times. _It’s yours. It’ll always be yours_ ; Jaime softly whispers into her ear as if he were still here, lying on the bed beside her, but Brienne knows he isn’t and would never again.  
  
Her thoughts keep swirling, dragging her here and there, tearing the wound open further and more gaping, making the tears on her cheeks stream and flow like the incoming tide until she feels drowned in her own tears and memories. It takes a long time before she finally slips into sleep, but sleep brings Brienne no comfort. All it brings her is the sight of Jaime, covered in blood, Cersei at his back, her arms possessively slung around Jaime’s torso while blood comes trickling from the corner of his mouth as he smiles at her. _See, this is who I’ve always been,_ the Jaime in her dream tells her, and she wakes with a start, sitting up in bed, tears in her eyes. The bed feels cold and empty without him there, and she curses herself for having grown used to his presence beside her so quickly. It’s still early. The sun hasn’t risen over Winterfell yet, and there isn’t the usual hustle and bustle going on down in the courtyard, so she is good for now. There is no need to rush out of bed, but there is also no reason to stay. The room feels stifling, to wrought with memories she would rather forget for now. She needs to get out of there, even though she still feels more tired than she had on her nightly excursion. She throws back the furs and gets dressed, gets ready for the day. There are things to do, breakfast to be had and Podrick to be trained. And maybe, if she’s lucky, no one will notice Jaime’s absence, even though she knows as soon as she thinks of it that life won’t give her that mercy either. So, she steels herself for the questions and the pitying looks when all of Winterfell realises that the Kingslayer has left her. Left her to go back to fight for the enemy, to be with his sister.  
  
But the looks don’t come, at least not that day. Not at breakfast, but that would have been way too early anyway and not when she is out in the yard with Pod for practice. They don’t come over lunch, even though Podrick is looking at her strangely, but he keeps his mouth shut and shovels stew into his mouth as if to keep from asking questions. They don’t come in the evening when she is working with a bunch of Northerners to restore one of Winterfell’s broken-down structures, and they don’t come over dinner.  
  
Lady Sansa asks her to drop by her chambers after dinner and Brienne is reluctant to go for the first time. She knows Sansa will ask where Jaime is, will ask why he left, and while at some point Brienne knows she has to tell her, she shies away from the coming conversation.  
  
Sansa is standing in front of the hearth in her chambers when Brienne enters. She turns around, giving Brienne a small smile as she approaches.  
  
“Thank you for coming, Ser Brienne.”, Sansa greets her, and Brienne inclines her head. “My lady.” She looks at Sansa then. Her eyes clear and calculating, knowing, her hands clasped around a goblet of wine and Brienne knows that Sansa knows. When the words fall from Sansa’s mouth though, she still has to refrain from flinching. “Where is Ser Jaime?”, she asks, her voice level. Brienne squares her shoulders, keeps the eye contact and forces out the words that make his departure real. “He has left for King’s Landing, my lady.” Sansa gives an almost imperceptible nod and takes a sip from her goblet before turning away from her.  
  
“There is something I need your help with if you don’t mind.” Brienne takes a few steps until she is next to Sansa, staring into the crackling fire. “Not at all, my lady. How may I be of help?” And just like that, Sansa drops the topic and instructs her on various matters that need doing around Winterfell. Brienne listens and nods and tells her she would get right to it come morning. She parts from Sansa without another word about Jaime, the ongoing war or King’s Landing, but there is a small, knowing smile on Sansa’s face as Brienne leaves. It’s tinged with sadness like she knows more than she lets on like she knows Brienne is hurting behind her carefully constructed façade. But Brienne shrugs it off and trudges back to her chambers, falling into bed, hoping for a dreamless sleep that wouldn’t come.

In the darkness and the privacy of her room, the façade crumbles once more, and the emotions come flooding back. Brienne tosses and turns for hours, unable to find sleep and unwilling to let herself cry again. So, her thoughts wander, taking her to happier times, making her heartache, and her throat constrict. Soft touches, morning smiles, arms around her waist, fingertips on her scars, lips on her shoulder and the steady hum of _he is going to die_ keeping her company. When she finally drifts into sleep, exhausted, her dreams bring Brienne only more grief. This night she sits in a vast, beautiful room, the stone cold under her as she holds a bloodied Jaime in her arms, his hand in hers as he smiles up at her. Cersei stands over them, a smirk on her face, condescending and haughty. _He is mine. He will always be mine._  
  
The next morning, she throws herself into the work Sansa has given her, working tirelessly and without a break. She only pokes at her breakfast and skips lunch, opting to stay out and continue her work. By the time the sun sets, and it’s time for dinner, her muscles ache and all Brienne wants is to fall into bed. She devours her dinner, smiling at Podrick now and again when he looks at her concerned and declines his offer for a cup of wine after, explaining that she is too tired. She hopes that as tired as she is, she will be asleep before her head hits the pillow, and her sleep will be dreamless for once. But luck isn’t on Brienne’s side. The dreams keep coming. Every night she dreams of a more gruesome scene in which Jaime dies. In her arms, in Cersei’s arms, alone and in pain. The days slip past her like a steady stream washing away the hours into one muddy, fluid thing, indistinguishable.  
  
One day Podrick comes looking for her around noon, his steps urgent and his voice slightly agitated when he tells her that Lady Sansa would like to speak with her immediately. Her long legs carry her in quick steps to Sansa, dread coiling in her stomach as her throat begins to constrict. _It can only be bad news if Podrick’s so frantic,_ Brienne thinks as she hastens down a corridor and her suspicions seem to be coming true when she lays eyes on Sansa. Her body language is tense, and her face speaks of worry.  
  
“My lady. You sent for me?”, Brienne says in greeting and Sansa meets her eyes. “There has been word from King’s Landing. Missandei has been beheaded by the Mountain, Cersei is unwilling to surrender, and the dragon queen is bent on taking the city by force with her remaining dragon as soon as Jon arrives.” Brienne swallows around the lump in her throat. She had feared as much, ever since they had first gotten word from Euron’s attack on the fleet. _They are going to destroy that city,_ her own words come back to her and Brienne has to keep herself from cringing. Why did she always have to be right?  
  
The silence between them hangs heavy with unspoken words and questions Brienne desperately wants to ask but doesn’t dare to voice. So, she waits expectantly for her lady’s next words. “You need to go to King’s Landing.” Sansa’s voice is stern and resolute, determined, even though her fingers can’t help but fidget with the paper she is still holding. It’s the last thing Brienne was expecting her to say, the last thing she wants to do. Leaving for King’s Landing might entail encountering Jaime again, and as much as she longs to see him, she knows that this time it would be across a battlefield. She would have to kill him if it came to that, and even though she knows she physically could, Brienne fears more than anything that she wouldn’t be able to bring herself to do it, even though it might mean her own death.  
  
“I can’t my lady. I’ve taken an oath to protect you so I will stay by your side.” The words are out of Brienne’s mouth before she has registered them, and she wants to berate herself for her feelings getting the better of her once more. When her eyes meet Sansa’s though, she seems understanding, as if she knows that what she is asking of Brienne is hard on her.  
  
“You have to go. There is something else I can’t trust anyone other than you with.” 

* * *

 The implications of what he has done sets in when Jaime is nigh on three days out of Winterfell. That had been two days ago. Instead of urgent hooves on muddy ground, there is only the sound of the leaves blowing in the soft wind above his head as he waters his horse. He knows he is stalling, has been for the last two days, but Jaime doesn’t know what to do anymore. He thought he knew, he had thought he had a plan or at least something, but all that had crumbled to ash under his hands every time he had closed his eyes and seen incredibly blue eyes filled with tears. Tears he had put there.  
Jaime slumps against the trunk of a nearby tree and rests his head against his drawn-up knees. He had been so sure when he had left Winterfell that he was doing the right thing, now he is not so sure anymore. Yesterday he had almost turned back. Almost.  
  
He rubs his hand over his face and lets out a sigh, looking up at the rustling leaves and moving clouds above. The ache in his chest hadn’t ceased since he had left Brienne in that damned courtyard in Winterfell, broken and crying and every time he remembers how she had begged him to stay, it is hard to breathe for a minute. _You love her_ , the voice in his head kept whispering, asking why he had left her, why he had to break her heart, and each time another voice fainter like a long forgotten memory resurfaces to chime in, _because you can’t let them kill your sister.  
_

He couldn’t go back to Winterfell, knowing that he would be restless, knowing that they would kill Cersei, kill his unborn child, if he didn’t do anything, and he couldn’t go to King’s Landing, knowing that that way lay his own death with the woman who had made him a monster.  
  
It all could have been so easy. He could have just stayed, lived out his life with Brienne, stretching that moment of happiness out to the rest of their lives. But he hadn’t deserved it. He would never deserve it, not with her, not when she is good and kind and honourable, and he is anything but. Not when he had lain in bed next to her, thinking of how she was different than his sister, not when he couldn’t spend a single day without thinking about Cersei even once. Leaving had been the right – the honourable - thing to do, even if it had broken her heart, even though Jaime knows he loves her, loves her in a way he had never loved Cersei. Because the only thing that hurts him more than breaking her heart is the thought of Cersei ever laying a finger on Brienne. He knows that if given a chance Cersei would destroy her, and he couldn’t let that happen. So, why is he running to save her?  
Jaime smashes his hand onto the muddy ground and lets out a guttural, desperate scream, that had ravens flying out of the trees as the sound travels through the forest. His horse startles and looks at him in confusion, but Jaime just lets his head thud against the solid trunk of the tree, relishing the dull pain as his skull makes impact with wood.  
  
He doesn’t deserve Brienne, and he doesn’t want Cersei, not like he used to, not now that he knows, what it really means to be cherished and held by someone who actually cares for him. But he couldn’t let her or his child be massacred. He shudders every time he pictures the farce of a trial that would be held for her, before her head would inevitably roll over cobblestone, detached from her body, rendering his child dead, long before their time. It is even worse when he pictures her dying alone, going up in flames or being buried by a collapsing building as Daenerys Targaryen takes the city. He just – he had to do something. Get her out of Westeros, across the narrow sea, out of the country and out of his life, because he knows as much as he couldn’t live with her anymore, he also couldn’t bear the thought of her being dead.  
  
_You are going to die trying to save your sister, leaving behind the woman you love heartbroken and alone, without her ever knowing you loved her. You will break her._ Jaime swallows and closes his eyes as the voices come back, battling to be heard, keeping him prisoner in his own mind. __  
You were always the stupidest Lannister. Cersei, haughty and condescending.  
  
_I need you to become the man you were always meant to be_. His father, demanding, on a battlefield.  
  
_Kingslayer._  
  
_How do you tell yourself you’re decent, after everything you have done?_ A voice far away in the distance, almost forgotten.  
  
_Oathbreaker._  
__  
You are a man without honour. Catelyn Stark on the night that would change his life forever.  
  
And then soft, from somewhere deep within, behind all these other voices, _you are a good man._ He chokes for a second, remembering Brienne’s voice. He wants to be that man. The good, honourable man Brienne sees in him, but he can’t as long as Cersei still lingering in his bones and under his skin. He has to close that chapter of his life, has to cut her out and as much as that would hurt, he has to if there was ever going to be a chance for him and Brienne. A real chance.

Jaime gets to his feet and walks the few paces to his horse before getting back into the saddle. He doesn’t have a plan, and he knows that in a day or two, he will find himself sitting at the foot of yet another tree to sort himself out once more. He knows that the voices and the doubt and hate will come back. Knows that he will falter again, but for now, he is resolved. He knows what he wants and what he wants is Brienne. Now he has to earn his place by her side and become the man she deserves or die trying.

* * *

The journey from Winterfell to King’s Landing had been the hardest, and fastest Brienne had ever made. They had been riding day and night only resting when either one of them or the horses were close to falling over. Half-way between Winterfell and King’s Landing they had had to change horses. They had been lucky that Sansa had arranged for enough money so Podrick and her could get to King’s Landing as fast as possible. Now they could see the camp in the distance and the city looming behind it. They had to find Tyrion, he would know where Sansa’s brother was or better yet, they would just find Jon.  
  
Brienne spurs her horse on, hearing the heavy panting of the animal beneath her, while her throat starts to close up with the fear that they might be too late and the battle for the city has already begun. Pod is by her side, looking equally as deranged as her, fear and tiredness etched onto his face as he spurs his horse on as well.  
  
When they reach the camp, it’s sheer dumb and utter luck that they find Tyrion walking by a few yards away and Podrick is out of his saddle before his horse has even come to a halt.  
  
“Lord Tyrion!”, he shouts, and Jaime’s brother turns swiftly when he hears Podrick call out his name. He is halfway towards Tyrion before Brienne has even dismounted. Tyrion looks a little startled by Pod’s sudden appearance, but he ceases walking and waits for Podrick to catch up to him.  
  
“Pod, what are you doing here?” Tyrion’s brows are furrowed as he watches Brienne join them in long steps that have a bit of frenetic energy to them. Tyrion looks a bit worse for wear, she notices, but they probably all do, considering the mad chase Brienne and Pod had undertaken from Winterfell to King’s Landing.  
  
“Where is Jon or Queen Daenerys, for that matter?” Brienne’s voice is level but urgent when she addresses him and when he doesn’t so much as speak, Brienne takes another step closer, her voice more urgent than before. “Where are they?” Tyrion looks even more startled than before, and Brienne is close to shaking the short man in hope to get some sense back into him. By now, Brienne is beyond agitated and next to the urgency an ever-present heavy rock of fear has lodged itself in her chest, making it hard to breathe. _He is going to die. They are all going to die._  
  
In the distance they can hear the ringing of the bells, a city’s surrender and Brienne almost wants to let out a sigh of relief when the screech of a dragon’s call echoes unmistakably over the city. The city is already under attack, of course, it is. Why couldn’t fate be on her side for once?  
  
“Did you get the raven?”, Brienne urges now, her eyes straying to the city walls every few seconds, waiting for a blazing ball of red fire to emerge. Tyrion looks even more confused than before, and Brienne is one step closer to lifting him up and shaking some sense back into him. This wasn’t the time to be mute. “There hasn’t been a raven ever since we got here.”, Tyrion finally said, indignation thick in his voice. “Will one of you please tell me what’s going on? You both seem really out of it.”  
  
Another shrill dragon screech echoes over the city, and then there is the roar of fire and the thunder of wings in the air. Brienne shudders, swallows thickly and then finally chokes out the words Sansa had told her to relay to Jon if she found him. “There is wildfire under the city. It’s everywhere.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to all of you. This took quite a bit longer to write than I had expected, but we are here now.   
> A big thank you to everyone who left a comment, a Kudo, a bookmark or just came around to give this a try. You are awesome. 
> 
> A big thank you again to [sarashouldbestudying](<a%20href=) over on Tumblr. She has been phenomenal in cheering me on and checking whether our beloved Characters stay in Character.

“Wildfire”, Tyrion mutters, his face having gone positively ghostly upon hearing the news Brienne and Podrick had brought from Winterfell. “This is a disaster. We have to evacuate the city immediately.”  
  
Brienne nods her agreement and chances another glance at the city. The roar of the dragon and the flapping of its wings could still be heard, carried on the wind, as flames billow up from the city below. Looking back at Tyrion, she can see that this hadn’t been part of the plan, but alas things couldn’t be changed. Going into the city now would be a suicide mission one way or the other. Either it would be the dragon fire that killed you or the wildfire below the city. Inevitably, it was going to end in flames. “Where is Jon? We have to get the message to him as well.”  
  
“Leading the army. He is somewhere in there, but I don’t know any more than that.” Tyrion shrugs, knowing that that bit of information wasn’t any more helpful than knowing the Night King had lived beyond the Wall.   
  
“Okay, Podrick and I will go in and find him. You get whoever you can find out of the city and spread the word that everyone should leave. We have to save as many people as possible.” Tyrion nods and Podrick next to her is steeling himself for the coming mission. She can see that he is preparing himself for the worst, but he never shiedes away from a fight, a task, a purpose. He would stay by her side no matter what, even if she would send him away now, she knew he wouldn’t leave. The boy was simply too stubborn for his own good, just like her.   
  
Brienne is about to turn around and have a quick chat with Podrick before they head into King’s Landing, when Tyrion stops her, by calling out her name. She sends Podrick on his way to the horses, telling him to ready himself for the coming battle and within a few seconds, they are alone. “Save him, will you?”, Tyrion starts, his hand on her arm as he looks imploringly up at her. For a second Brienne is confused about whom Tyrion is talking, her thoughts instantly going to Pod and his shared history with Tyrion, but his next sentence makes it very clear that he is not, in fact, talking about her squire. “I can’t lose my brother. Not like this.”  
  
Suddenly it’s hard to breathe, her breath catching in her throat because Tyrion explicitly asking her to save Jaime means he is in there somewhere as well. That Tyrion knows Jaime is in King’s Landing. And even though she knew that’s where Jaime was headed there had still been that irrational part of her which had hoped he hadn’t made it. That he was somewhere between here and Winterfell in a tavern or that he had been captured by highwaymen. Now though, it is real. He is here, and he is in danger, and she wants to save him, has to save him, if it’s the last thing she does. The prospect of seeing Jaime though constricts her throat further and thinking about the circumstances makes the familiar stab of pain run through her. She hopes that her features don’t betray her inner struggle, but she can see that Tyrion has caught on to it. He smiles up at her, reassuringly, and pats her arm gently. “He is in there trying to do what’s right. There is more to all of this than you know. Believe me.”  
  
She wants to ask the plethora of question that statement sparks but knows there is no time. There are people that need them and a city that needs saving, but Tyrion looking at her full of honesty, his expression open and sincere, reassures her, steadies her. She takes a deep breath, trying to calm her rioting feelings further because she can’t afford to be caught up in them with the task at hand. Not now, when it’s paramount that she gets things done. She needs to be calm and collected and not a rioting mess of feelings. “He was happy with you. Happier than I have ever seen him. He had to do this to make peace with a part of himself that he has grown to hate.” Tyrion’s words have finally worn her down, making that ache she has felt ever since Jaime’s departure bloom again in full force, and she wonders why he is doing this now, telling her all of this when she needs to have a clear mind, to be focused. “He is a good man, you know that as well as I do, but that doesn’t mean that sometimes he doesn’t do something stupid because he thinks it’s the right thing to do.”  
  
If Brienne had been any less adapted at hiding her feelings and swallowing them down, she knows she would have started crying then and there, in the middle of the camp, minutes before she was supposed to go and face death. Hearing her own words thrown back at her hurts for a second, especially because they had made so little impact on Jaime, but then she finally realises what Tyrion is trying to say and a little spark of hope catches on, igniting a tiny flame. All he had done was tell her how she didn’t have all the facts about Jaime’s motivation for leaving and that he was trying to do the honourable thing here, even though Tyrion thought him a bit stupid for it. She hopes he is honest. She wants, needs that tiny spark of hope because a `maybe´ is better than nothing.  
  
“I know it’s a lot to ask, but - Will you try?” Their eyes meet, and Brienne can see how afraid he is for Jaime, how much he worries and hopes she will do him this favour because he can’t save his brother, no matter how much he wants to. She realises then that Tyrion had been sure of Jaime surviving this if it hadn’t been for the sudden addition of wildfire to the situation. “I will.”   
  
For a moment they keep the eye contact, and Brienne can see the silver of relief reflected in them, before she inclines her head and draws back, Tyrion’s hand falling away from her arm. She smiles briefly at him before heading to where Podrick is still standing by their horses, his sword at his hip now and a flask of water at his lips.   
“Pod, let’s go.”, Brienne barks as she walks right past him to her horse. She swings up into the saddle and dashes off in the direction of the city gate, strumming with adrenaline, her emotions still in turmoil, but she has a goal now, more so than before. Pod is at her back, only a few paces behind her as their horses thunder over dusty ground, and her mind keeps reeling with the names of the people she has to find, has to save. _Jon, Arya, Jaime.  
  
_Soon the dusty ground turns to a charred, blackened battlefield, littered with equally charred corpses. The towers lining the city wall are destroyed, some still smoking as they ride past, looking jagged and blackened like the fouling teeth of a ferocious beast. The smell of burned flesh hangs thick and pungent in the air, and it’s a completely different experience seeing the destruction a dragon causes on real people, not the emotionally detached husks of the undead. They ride through the carnage, slower than Brienne would have liked, but corpses, rubble and still smouldering fires make it hard to manoeuvre. The devastation caused by the dragon gets worse, the closer they get to the city gate, and when they finally reach where it used to sit, it’s gone. There is nothing left except the walls that had flanked it before, but the gate itself lies smashed and strewn across the battlefield. A gaping hole in the fortifications that should have protected the city.   
  
They ride into the city to the symphony of people screaming, a dragon’s shrill, screeching roar overhead and the thunder of wings. To her surprise, Brienne finds that her mind has calmed. Her heart is still thundering rapidly in her chest and the names in her mind are still on repeat, but she feels collected, focused now, set on the task before her. She looks over her shoulder at Podrick, making sure that he is okay and when she sees his steely expression, and he gives her a curt nod, she knows he’ll be fine.   
  
They ride past torched buildings and screaming people running in the opposite direction, out of the city, not like them heading straight into doom. Brienne can see the fear clear on their faces as they run past her, eyes wide with the horror and destruction they have seen. Mothers clutch their babes to their chests or grip small children’s hands as they flee and for a second Brienne wonders why it had to come to this. Innocent people dying at the hand of a queen many had believed in.  
  
Their horses carry them further into the heart of the city as they follow the trail of dead Lannister soldiers while the dragon above their heads sings his song of fire and destruction. Once it passes right over their heads, black wings darkening the sky and Brienne thinks for a second that that would be their end, dying in an unremarkable alleyway in King’s Landing, going up in flames. But the dragon passes, and the sky lightens once more, and both her and Pod let out a sigh of relief as they look at each other, understanding without words.  This could have been their death. After that, Brienne can’t help but flinch every time they hear the dragon screech over their heads, always fearful that it would come swooping down on them.  
  
The threat from above has so consumed her thinking that by the time they find the Dragon Queen’s troops, Brienne has almost forgotten about the threat under their feet.  However, she gets viciously reminded when somewhere, probably on the outskirts of the city, an explosion goes off, sending a big, billowing cloud of bright green flames up over the roofs, as the earth shakes, and the sound reverberates through the many streets. Brienne’s horse rears up, spooked by the loud noise and she has to hold on for dear life not to fall off. She hears Pod call out for her as she struggles to stay in her saddle, tugging at the reins and muttering to the still skittish horse. It takes a minute or two, but the horse finally calms, and Brienne lays her glove-clad hand on its neck, patting it in a reassuring manner.   
  
Podrick is next to her, looking concerned and she knows he is about to say something when someone calls out to Brienne over the ruckus of the fighting. She lets her eyes wander over the soldiers still engaged in combat a few yards away and spots Jon, making his way over to them. Relief floods her as she lays eyes on him, sweet and crisp like a dip into the ocean on a warm summer’s day. They have found him.   
  
She dismounts and meets Jon in long strides. He looks weary, covered in sweat and soot, his sword in his hand. She would like to be the bearer of better news, but it can’t be helped.   
  
“Ser Brienne.”, Jon addresses her again, looking up and meeting her eyes. There are streaks of soot all over his face and a gash over his brow that’s oozing a small trickle of blood. “I thought you’d be at Winterfell with my sister.”  
  
“I was, but pressing matters had me coming to King’s Landing for Lady Sansa. Your brother has divulged that Queen Cersei seems to have worked on filling the passages beneath King’s Landing with wildfire.” Her voice is steady as she relays the information, calm, the warrior in her taking control even though she can feel a little trepidation coil in her stomach. Her pulse is still quick in her chest, the names seared into her mind. _Jon. Arya. Jaime._   
  
“Wildfire.”, Jon mutters under his breath, and he looks just as confused and startled by the news as Tyrion had, disbelieve clearly written on his face. Nevertheless, she presses on, knowing that they have to act fast if they want to save as many people as possible. “We need to evacuate the city immediately. That just now was the first explosion, and it’s only going to get worse. With the dragon lighting King’s Landing on fire, we don’t know when or how the wildfire will go off.”  
  
She looks over to where a few roofs are still alight with green flames as another screeching dragon roar echoes over their heads. A curse leaves Jon’s mouth as the reality of their situation finally sinks in. She looks over at him, his face set and determined. ”I’ll see to it that as many people as possible get out of the city. Maybe, by some miracle, I can also stop Daenerys, but that’s not going to be easy.”   
  
They look at each other, a clear understanding between them, before Brienne nods. Jon is just about to head back to the troops, when she reaches out to catch his arm, halting him. She is met with soot and sweat and blood again as Jon’s eyes meet hers, a questioning look in them.   
  
“Where is Arya? Have you seen her? We have to get her out of here as well.” Her voice has grown a bit shaky again, and her heart is pounding in her chest. Where will she have to go next? Further into this madness? She thinks of Podrick. Good loyal Pod, who would never abandon her, not even if she would ask him to. He would stay by her side, and he would die by her side, even though he didn’t have to. She swallows those worries and silently hopes that Arya isn’t in the city or at least that she isn’t headed where Brienne fears.   
  
“Last I heard she wanted to go kill Cersei. She passed us some time ago heading for the Red Keep with the Hound.” Once more, she curses her persistent gut feeling that has proven to be right way too often lately. They would have to head straight into the centre of this war, and she knows the chances of getting back out were getting slimmer and slimmer.   
  
“Thank you.” Her voice is flat now as she swallows around the hard lump in her throat. She inclines her head once more in a quick goodbye before releasing Jon’s arm and turning around to face Podrick. She can’t tell him to leave now, because she knows he won’t, but she’ll have to think of something. She has to because he doesn’t have to die here today.  
  
“Come on Podrick.”, she says as she heads back to her horse and swings back into the saddle. He is next to her in no time, battle ready and determined. “Ser Brienne, the fastest way to the Red Keep is this way.” He points to an alley to her right side, and for a moment, she is taken aback before she remembers that Pod had been serving Tyrion in King’s Landing before he had ever come into her services.   
  
“Lead the way then.”, she tells him, grateful that he can take the lead for now as she mulls over her options to get him out of the city unharmed. Pod gives her a small reassuring smile as he rides past her and down the alleyway he had indicated, before she spurs her horse into action as well.   
  
They make their way to the Red Keep as quickly as possible to the ever-present song of screams, the roaring of fire and the dragon’s call above their heads. Brienne is still acutely aware of the great winged beast soaring over the city, especially when the flapping of wings is as loud as thunder in her ears and the shrill call pierces through her body like the head of a spear. The further they ride, the clearer the cost of this war becomes. Houses aflame or reduced to rubble, charred, blackened corpses of women and their children in the streets, the smell of burning flesh hanging in the air. It’s a foul smell, but by now Brienne’s nose has grown accustomed to it, and she feels that alone is sickening.   
When they reach the gates to the outer courtyard of the Red Keep, the gates are torn out, hanging askew on their hinges, so they manage the last stretch of the way without a hitch. Once they reach the entrance to the Red Keep both her and Podrick dismount and head inside. Brienne has formed a somewhat decent plan on how to get Pod out of the city and when they find the throne room deserted, she turns to look at her squire.   
  
“Pod, we need to split up, cover more ground.” He looks at her with his big brown eyes, and she can clearly see how much he dislikes that idea. “But M’lady – Ser –.” She cuts him off then because she knows she will let him come along if he pleads with her, but she has to protect him from certain death. Even if she dies today, he shouldn’t have to.   
“Pod, you know this castle, and we need to find not only Arya, but I also promised Lord Tyrion to look for Ser Jaime.” She sees that Podrick is still not convinced by her plan and granted it is a bit stupid and not her best, but he has to get out of here. “Go look for Arya. If you find her, get out of the city as fast as you can. If you haven’t found her by the time the castle starts to crumble, get out of the city anyway.”  
  
“But-“ Brienne wants to sigh. Why can’t he listen to her just now? So, I lieu of having a better idea, she draws herself up to her full height and squares her shoulders as she looks down at Pod and instead of the friendly prodding, issues a command. “Podrick Payne, I command you to do as I say.” He deflates instantly, and his shoulders sag a little. She knows she’s hurt him, but he has to live.    
  
“Now go, Pod, and please do as I say.” She hopes her using his nickname softens the blow as she sends him off and Brienne knows she is already forgiven when she sees the worry that still lingers in his brown eyes. She wonders if he is aware of what she is doing, what her intentions are, and for a split second before Pod turns around, she thinks she can see it clearly on his face before he is gone.   
  
Briennne swallows as she looks around the now deserted throne room as another cry from the dragon outside shakes the walls of the castle. With one last look at the iron throne, she heads out of the throne room in the opposite direction as Podrick, now only two names on her mind. _Arya. Jaime. Jaime. Jaime._

* * *

Getting to the Red Keep had been an excruciatingly slow affair. After Tyrion had gotten him into the city, he had tried to avoid all the big streets leading up to the keep, keeping to the shadows and avoiding the crowds. However, it had been all too soon, when Daenerys had started her rampage on the city, which had made his progress even slower. Twice he had had to duck and run as the great beast had come down the street breathing fire and destroying everything in its wake. The only small mercy had been that he had managed his journey without any other significant trouble. No one had paid the mad man any mind that had made his way towards the Red Keep instead of out of the city and by the time he had reached the last gate separating him from the keep, it had long been destroyed, the gate only barely hanging on its hinges.   
  
By now, he has finally made it into the Red Keep, rushing down a long hallway and into the open when he sees her. She is standing in the courtyard where she had the map of Westeros painted all those months ago, to Jaime it feels like it has been a lifetime since that day, so far removed does he feel from the person he had been back then.   
  
Cersei is pacing the courtyard, a goblet of wine in her hand as she takes intermittent sips every now and then. Through an archway, he can see the Mountain and Qyburn, looking out onto the city, but none of them have noticed him yet.   
  
He takes a step into the courtyard then, looking at his sister, calling her name. “Cersei.” His voice is softer than he had expected it to be, and when she looks up and sees him, there is a spark of surprise in her eyes. Emotions flit over her face in rapid succession before the walls behind her eyes slam down, and her gaze becomes steely.   
  
“What are you doing here? I thought you’d be dead by now.” Her voice is haughty as she takes a sip of her wine and fixes him with a cold stare that would have a shiver run down a lesser man’s spine.  Jaime though is used to her moods by now, to those cold stares, so he shrugs it off and moves towards her, closing the distance between them until he stands in front of her. The dragon’s roar echoes in the courtyard, calling him to battle and he knows it’s now or never. If he wants to save her and his child, now is his chance. He’ll only get the one.  
  
“Cersei, you have to stop. It’s over. Daenerys has taken the city.” She rolls her eyes, clearly annoyed with him, but Jaime isn’t deterred. She has done this to him ever since they had been little, she had huffed and acted annoyed, and Jaime had still always found a way to get to her, so he takes another step and makes her look at him, makes her meet his eyes, as his left-hand frames her face. The irony of his current situation isn’t lost on him. Brienne had begged him to stay, her hands warm and comforting on his face, and now here he is, begging his sister just like she had begged him. Jaime swallows around the lump in his throat and soldiers on.   
  
“You have to get out, leave here. If not for yourself than for the child.” But all Cersei does is scoff at him, her expression still annoyed as she slaps his hand away from her face. There’s a condescending little smile playing around her lips as she takes another sip of wine before she snaps, “You really think I would bow to that bitch?”  
  
“Cersei.” For a second Jaime is startled. He can’t comprehend why she isn’t thinking of her child when her children, their children, had been everything to her, when she had done everything to protect them. Now even that seems to have passed. Tyrion had once told him, he believed their sister’s love for her children was her only redeeming quality, but with that gone, what was left?  
  
“I won’t scurry away like a kicked dog with my tail between my legs. Not for anyone.” Her voice is stern, unwavering and cold and Jaime hears her implied _not even for you,_ as he swallows thickly again, his eyes still fixed on his sister. She downs the rest of her wine, clutching the goblet in a white-knuckled grip and suddenly he realises what she’s implying.  
  
“There is no child, is there?” His voice is rough as the words tumble from his lips and into the space between them, the implication making a barely suppressed shiver run down his spine.  
  
“Maybe you aren’t the stupidest Lannister after all.” Cersei scoffs, her voice dripping with disdain as she addresses him, and the hurt is instant. His child is dead, had never lived and Cersei was just standing there, unfazed, unmoved. His throat feels even more constricted then before, and a stabbing pain has lodged itself between his rips, twinging every time he moves.   
  
“What happened?”, he croaks, needing to know, even though he knows the pain would be even worse. He has to know, and even Cersei’s disdain and haughty demeanour can’t keep him from that. She could insult him all she wanted as long as he gets answers.   
  
“Why do you think I didn’t lie to you?” Cersei spits, her face stern, but Jaime doesn’t so much as flinch. He just takes a long breath, steeling himself for another onslaught, but nothing comes. So, he seizes the moment and presses on.  
  
“Because I know you and family, our family, has always been sacred to you. You wouldn’t have lied about something like that.” His voice is still soft, laced with the pain of the loss of his child and even though he sees her more clearly now than ever, haughty and full of disdain, he wants her to know that he is here, that she doesn’t have to hide, that they can share this pain together. The urge to reach out and pull her close is strong, but he refrains, knowing that it will do him no good in this situation. Instead, he meets her eyes, so much like his own, and finally sees one of her walls fall. “I lost it after you left.”  
  
For the flicker of a second, he sees her, he sees Cersei, his sister, his lover and not the cold, haughty Queen she had grown into and where he had been strong enough before he fails now. His hand reaches out once more and cups her face as he shares her pain. “Come with me, leave here. You don’t have to die.”   
  
He can see the shift in her eyes as the words leave his mouth, as he begs her to abandon this sinking ship and get away with her life. The walls are back in place, and the softer version of herself has completely melted away. Slowly he feels anger bubble up inside him as he takes a step back, his hand falling to his side. _How can she be so blind?  
  
_“So, you won’t leave. You just want to die here? Get captured by the enemy? Is that your grand plan?”, Jaime snaps and all Cersei sees fit to do, is smile one of those cold smiles and he knows that no of course that’s not her plan. She has something up her sleeve, she always has. Cersei never goes into a fight unprepared and trepidation coils in his stomach as he thinks about all the little plots and plans she might have, when another cry from the dragon shakes the walls of the keep before silence settles over the courtyard.   
  
“Jaime.” The voice is soft, coloured with disbelieve, and still, he would recognise it anywhere, though hearing it now, here, stings. Still, he swivels around and there under one of the many archways surrounding the courtyard in her blue-black armour stands Brienne, the disbelieve from her voice plainly written all over her face and Jaime’s heart aches. _She is here, in King’s Landing._   
  
“Oh, look who we have here.” He can hear the sneer in Cersei’s voice, but his mind is still muddled with the realisation that Brienne is here, that she’s in King’s Landing, in a city under attack by a dragon.  Her name tumbles from his lips as he looks at her, unsure whether her being here is a gift or a curse.   
  
“Ser Gregor, seize her.” A cold shower runs over Jaime as Cersei’s words penetrate. He hadn’t noticed until then that the Mountain and Qyburn had joined them in the courtyard, but now the lumbering beast of a man was unsheathing his sword. Brienne wouldn’t last long against that monster of a man. She was good, but she wasn’t that good. His anger flares as he watches Brienne draw Oathkeeper and fall into a defensive stance. There was no way she could win this.   
  
“Cersei, don’t you dare.”, he growls, looking over his shoulder at his sister. There is a small amused smile on her face now, and her eyes are alight with a flickering fire full of cruelty. “What, afraid that Ser Gregor might finish off your big, blundering whore?”   
  
The pain he feels on Brienne’s behalf is searing and instant. _She is not a_ whore, his mind sneers back at his sister, but he refrains from voicing that, it would only give her something new to latch onto. He glances back at the fight, steel meeting steel in a song filled with violence and the need for survival. For a moment, Jaime can’t help but watch, looking at her as she holds her own, brutal and efficient like she always fights. She parries the massive swings the Mountain rains down on her and tries to give as good as she gets, but Jaime can see it in the little thing, the little movements, that she won’t be able to fend him off long. _She can’t win this, she will die._   
  
His left hand finally finds his sword hilt, opening and closing around the handle, as he ponders what to do. He has to do something or else, Brienne would soon be dead, her blood on his hands, the one thing he had always wanted to avoid.   
  
His hand finally closes around the sword hilt for good and he is about to draw his sword, whether to head to Brienne and help her defend herself, or threaten his sister to call of the Mountain he doesn’t know, but then Cersei’s voice rings out over the courtyard, loud and clear, still dripping with disdain. “Ser Gregor, be so kind as to not kill her, my brother seems to be emotionally attached to the beast.”  
  
It's as if the Mountain has waited for the command, because with an elaborate manoeuvre of his sword Jaime hadn’t thought him capable off, he has Brienne disarmed. She is breathing heavily as Oathkeeper glints in the light and sails out of her hand. The sound of the sword clattering onto the ground rings out in the courtyard, as it slides away from her until it comes to rest at Jaime’s feet and he can’t help but spare a glance for the familiar sword he had given her all those years ago. Oathkeeper. Her only means of defence. But then her strangled scream carries through the air and has the hairs on the back of Jaime’s neck stand on end, making a cold shiver run down his spine as memories of Brienne being hauled away by wights and a group of men alike assault him.   
  
His eyes leave the sword on the ground and travel back to her as he takes a shuddering breath after going seconds without. Brienne is pressed to the Mountain’s chest, one of his big, burly arms around her throat as her hands grapple for purchase so she can breathe. The Mountain’s sword though, Jaime notices, has thankfully returned to its place at the man’s hip, sheathed and away from Brienne.  
  
Cersei, for once, is silent but there is a small self-satisfied smile on her face, as he glances over at his sister, before his eyes find their way back to Brienne. Her hands are now wrapped around the Mountain’s arm, straining for breath, but she has grown still against him, and Jaime suddenly realises that he doesn’t know what to do. Faced with these two women, here, now, under these circumstances, he is lost. Unable to move, unable to think, to act.   
  
Another roaring cry from the dragon shakes the keep. _Daenerys is probably soon going to direct her wrath here_ , Jaime thinks as a loud explosion reverberates through the building, and his knees go slightly weak as the aftershock travels through him. He looks over to Cersei, seeking answers, but she just seems as unfazed as before. It’s Brienne’s voice, hoarse and barely more than a whisper that wants to provide the answers he seeks.  
  
“Jaime. Wildfire – under the city.” Her eyes are huge and blue, imploring him to understand, but her voice is gravelly and rough, and Jaime isn’t really sure what he heard until Cersei chimes in from behind him.   
  
“How charming. Have you come to save him?” Cersei mocks and takes a few steps towards Brienne until she is only a few paces away, looking up at her.  “You won’t.” His sister's voice is haughty and cold as she sneers up at Brienne before turning away from her and addresses Qyburn. Another cry from the dragon echoes through the keep, shaking its wall and making the first debris rain down into the courtyard. _We have to get out of here.  
_  
“Yes, your majesty?”, comes the voice of Cersei’s hand as the man steps into the courtyard, meek and subservient. The command Cersei gives is cold and unfeeling, but it rolls of her tongue with an air of ease, as if it’s nothing. “Burn them all.”  
  
In an instant, the world comes crashing down around him, and Brienne’s croaked statement finally makes sense, the realisation worse than anything Jaime could have ever imagined. _You knew_. _You knew who she was, and you loved her anyway._ He swallows, but there are other voices, truths that he had denied to acknowledge. _She is a disease. I regret my role in spreading it, and so will you.  
  
_“As you command.” Qyburn’s voice sounds distant, far off, but he knows he has to act now, do something, stop this madness before it costs even more lives.  
  
“No!”, Jaime yells, desperate, frantic, and an old familiar voice in his head, a voice he had hoped to never hear again. _Burn them all. Burn them all._ But Cersei is still talking, her lips moving, and Jaime has to strain to hear the words. “Oh and – Kill her.”  
  
“No!”, Jaime scrambles. _Kill her. Burn them all. Kill her. Burn them all._ He feels like he is being torn apart as he looks over to where Cersei is standing, smile still in place. He watches as the Mountain nods, tightening his arm and then there is the sound of feet scuff and scramble over the floor as the Mountain slowly squeezes the life out of Brienne. He can only manage a short glance at her, so small and frail looking against the bulk of the Mountain before he has to avert his eyes. He can’t watch her light leave those blue eyes, he can’t. _You have to do something. Brienne will die._ It’s like tearing at the seams, being stretched thin. He just doesn’t know what to do.  
  
_Burn them all, burn them all.  
  
Kill her.  
  
Big, blundering whore.  
  
The stupidest Lannister.   
  
Burn them all.  
  
Kill her.  
  
_And then, he snaps.   



	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this took longer than usual, but Brienne's part was surprisingly hard to write and I'm still not one hundred per cent happy, but after rewriting certain parts more time than I can think, I guess this will be the best I can do.
> 
> Big thanks to everyone leaving comments and kudos and bookmarks. I love every single one of you.
> 
> But now without further ado, have Chapter Three.

Jaime doesn’t know how or when he makes the decision to act, maybe he doesn’t and he is acting on pure instinct, just like he had when he was seventeen and faced with a similar situation. All he knows is that suddenly Oathkeeper is in his hand, the weight of the blade unfamiliar but comforting and in two long steps he has caught up to Qyburn who had rushed past him to carry out Cersei’s command. Without a second’s hesitation, the blade sheathes itself into the body of Cersei’s hand, the red blood blooming on his robes, darkening them, as it streams from the wound.   
  
Jaime pulls the sword of the dead man’s body, letting the lifeless corpse fall to the floor with a loud thud, unfeeling. It’s like being in a trance of sort, Cersei’s voice insistent in his ears. _Kill her. Burn them all._ Blood pools on the floor by his feet, washing away the image of Westeros in a red sea as Oathkeeper drips a shower of blood over the painted lands.    
  
Having stopped the imminent destruction of the city by wildfire, for now, his attention redirects towards Brienne. He has to save her, Cersei doesn’t get to kill her, doesn’t get to snuff out the little light she brings to this world, dark and corrupted as it is. He doesn’t care that going up against the Mountain will probably be his end. He has to save her and for once he has a plan, a stupid one, but a plan. If it saves Brienne though, it’ll be worth it.   
  
He rounds on Cersei, Oathkeeper still dripping blood by his side as he makes his way over to her and for once she actually looks frightened, the haughty demeanour gone, the condescending smirk wiped from her face. The blade clatters to the floor as he drops it, blood spraying in tiny droplets to all sides, but Jaime doesn’t pay it any mind as his hand finds its way around Cersei’s throat. His golden hand lays pressed against her abdomen, where his child was supposed to be, her back pressed to his chest, similar to the way the Mountain is holding Brienne.   
  
Jaime looks up at the beast of a man, tightens his hand and hopes that he will let Brienne go, will try defending his Queen, instead of keeping at it with Brienne. Jaime isn’t sure why the Mountain hasn’t just snapped her neck, hasn’t squashed in her head with his two giant paws, but he is grateful that there is so much as a chance she might get out of this alive if this stupid plan works.  
  
“Ser Gregor”, Cersei croaks out and Jaime can see the Mountain’s hold on Brienne growing more pronounced. She struggles, her legs thrashing, her hands scrabbling, while she gasps for breath but finds nothing. His hold on Cersei tightens and she chokes, he can feel her throat working under his palm.   
  
“Hello, brother.”, comes a voice from behind Jaime and he wants to turn around, but keeps himself from it as he sees the Mountain finally leaving off Brienne. She falls to the ground, her head hitting the floor with a sickening thud and Jaime feels ill. Brienne doesn’t move, doesn’t get up and Jaime is certain that he can’t see her chest rising and falling in the familiar way of breathing. His heart is thudding rapidly in his chest as the Mountain stalks past him and Cersei, drawing his sword as he lumbers away from Brienne and towards his brother, out of sight. _She is dead. Cersei killed her. Brienne is dead.  
_  
Tears spring unbidden to his eyes and the anger from before burns through him alongside the sickening stab of pain. He has failed her. Failed the woman he loves. His hand is flexing around Cersei’s throat as his thoughts run riot. _She is a monster.  
_  
Podrick scrambles past him, falling to his knees by Brienne’s side, hoisting her large frame into his lap as he swipes blonde strands soaked in red out of her face. Pod’s lips are moving as the young man bends over his mentor, but Jaime can’t hear him with the blood rushing in his ears and his anger choking him. Tears glisten on Podrick’s face as he looks up at the ceiling in search for solace as if asking the gods to undo their unjust ways, but Jaime knows what’s done is done.  
“Jaime”, Cersei croaks out, her hands at his hand still around her throat, trying to pry it away from her. He hadn’t even noticed that his hand had closed around her throat once more, squeezing the life out of her.   
  
“You are a monster.” The words fall from his lips unbidden, but his mind had been so occupied with this recurring theme, that he isn’t surprised when the words finally come tumbling out into the open. Somewhere Jaime had known when he had come back from Highgarden, Olenna’s words still fresh in his mind and had seen the Sept of Baelor blown to pieces in a ball of green flames, that Cersei had turned into something from which she would never turn back. Somewhere deep inside he had known then but had chosen to ignore it, now there was no way around it anymore when she was turning into the man he had killed for trying to do the same thing.   
  
“You lied, you schemed, you killed and talked your way out of all of it.” His voice reverberates with his anger and frustration. The pain, spreading through him like a vine, reaching into every corner of his body, only spurs him on.   
  
“And you love me anyway.”, she spits, her voice gravelly from the pressure Jaime is still putting on her throat. He is surprised when he doesn’t recoil, only feels the stab of pain that the word love brings and the ever-present knowledge that the person he does love is lying in Podrick’s arms, lifeless.   
  
“I did, but not anymore.”, he tells her, his chin resting on her shoulder now, his cheeks wet with tears, as he continues to look at Podrick rocking Brienne in his lap, clutching her close to his body as the boy weeps. “You became everything I fought against when I was seventeen. Hungry for power you haven’t stopped at anything. You want to kill everyone in this entire city, just to get the better of Daenerys, just so you will die a Queen and there is nothing left after you’re done. You wanted me and Tyrion dead and now you’ve managed to kill the bit of light this world had left. This has to end.”   
  
Jaime closes his hand around her throat and squeezes. Cersei’s hands scratch against his arm and he can feel her struggle, so he closes his eyes and drowns it all out, drowns out what he is doing and instead thinks about Brienne. He thinks about her smile when he knighted her, thinks of the way she had looked at him after their first kiss, fire in her eyes, her hands on his naked chest, her lips on his stump and the reverent looks she gave him as she kissed every little scar. He thinks of her tears, her trembling voice, her pain, and he thinks of the fact that he never told her he loved her and would never get the chance now.   
  
Cersei has grown still in his arms and his cheeks are wetter than before, new tears having found their way onto his skin. The keep shakes under his feet as more debris rains down into the courtyard and he feels his body finally giving out, his knees buckle, and his arms fall away. Cersei hits the ground with a loud thud before his knees make impact with the floor and the sound of what is happening around him finally comes back to him. Jaime realises that somewhere close by people are engaged in a sword fight, groans and the singing of steel meeting steel fills the air as well as the grumbling and groaning of a building slowly giving out. _We have to get out of here,_ the small voice insists, but Jaime doesn’t feel like he can move, as weary and hurting as he is. Still, he glances over his shoulder and sees Arya leap up onto the Mountain, legs around his shoulders, as her knife buries itself to the hilt in the giant’s head. She leaps down, dagger in hand and the Hound lops off his brother’s head in one swift and efficient swing, sending the orb flying before it finally hits the word with a sickening crack. The little, ruthless Stark girl smiles up at her companion, before ambling over to him and Cersei and plunging the dagger that was supposed to kill her brother into Cersei’s chest for good measure. She looks up at him, smiling, hand still closed around the dagger's hilt.  
  
“I didn’t think you’d do it.”, she tells him, her voice steady, but when his eyes flicker to hers, he can see anger simmering there as if the dagger she has plunged into Cersei’s chest is a kind of consolation or make do for something. She pulls the dagger free in one swift, vicious movement as the keep shakes anew. Blood starts streaming out of Cersei’s wound, soaking Westeros further in blood and starts seeping into the fabric of his breeches. _I didn’t think I could either.  
  
_Jaime swallows, his sister’s corpse still warm against his knees as he watches Arya Stark wipe her dagger on Cersei’s dress before sheathing it. Jaime just sits there, watching her, apathetic, except for the searing pain that keeps him company but makes him feel equally numb. It’s Podrick who finally manages to shake Jaime out of it. “Ser Brienne! Ser Brienne! Can you hear me?”  
  
Her name registers in Jaime’s brain, and with that something hot and burning flares to life inside him. _She is alive. She is alive,_ his mind keeps yelling at him and with the seemingly last dredges of his strength Jaime gets to his feet, soaked in blood as he clutches Oathkeeper, feeling the gold filigree dig into his palm. It’s an anchor he didn’t know he needed, feeling the cold gold in his palm. Something to tether him to Brienne.    
  
Step after dragging step he makes his way over to were Pod is still holding Brienne in his lap. Arya and the Hound are quietly conversing close to where Podrick is sitting but Jaime only has eyes for Brienne. When he is only a few more paces away and sees her chest rising and falling in the familiar rhythm of breathing, relief floods Jaime so strongly that he staggers, and his knees buckle once more. _She is alive.  
_  
Jaime can feel the tears welling up in his eyes, feels them spill and run down over his cheeks as he gasps for breath, relieved and unbelievably grateful. He drags himself over to Pod and Brienne, lays Oathkeeper down next to them and finally reaches out for her. She is warm under his fingertips as he brushes a stray lock of hair out of her face. Her lips are still rosy, full of life. Jaime can see the angry red welts around her throat where the Mountain had done his best to strangle her. The bruises that will bloom there will last her for days and only thinking about that makes the little flame of anger reignite. _This shouldn’t have happened_ , he tells himself, looking down at her. But he had tried to keep her safe, make her see what he truly was and still she had come, whether it had been for him or not, what was clear was, that there had never been a chance for him to protect her. Not when she was strong and willful and honourable and always did what she deemed right.  
  
“Has she been conscious?”, Jaime asks, his hand now lying on Brienne’s shoulder, not wanting to let her go again. Not after everything that’s happened, not after having felt the pain that was believing her dead, not after having to leave her in tears. Never again.   
  
“No, Ser, she hasn’t. Thought she was dead when I found her.” Jaime nods, thinking, the small insistent voice in his head still chanting, _we have to get out of here_. As if on cue the dragon roars outside, louder than ever. The keep shakes beneath them, sending rubble raining down, large chunks, gravel and dust, and the sounds of a collapsing castle are deafening for a moment. _We have to get out of here._   
  
The only problem is, Jaime doesn’t know how. There is no way they will make it out of the keep and the city in time. Even if they managed to get out of the keep, which was unlikely by this point, seeing as more and more debris was coming down, there was no way they could manage to haul an unconscious Brienne all the way out of the city and that was without considering the threat of the wildfire underneath their feet. Fuck.   
  
“Podrick, get her out of her armour.”, Jaime orders, casting his mind to what other options there are but coming up short. Still, having Brienne out of her armour would make getting her out of here easier, if he managed to get together a conceivable plan before they were squashed.  
  
“But, Ser-“, Pod tries to interject, but Jaime only throws him a hard glare and the boy instantly shuts up, busying himself with removing the first piece of Brienne’s armour.   
  
“We need to get out of here.”, the Stark girl says, voice unwavering but urgent as Jaime looks up and of course she is right, that’s nothing new, but there just isn’t a way, at least not one that he knows. When Jaime says as much she grins. “I know a way. Down by the dungeons where they keep the dragon skulls. I found it when I was a girl. It will take us right out to Blackwater Bay.”  
  
The keep shakes again, raining down chunks of stone into the courtyard and with an ear-splitting crumble and crunch, a long tear appears right through the blood-soaked map of Westeros, splitting the seven kingdoms in two, before the crack feathered out. They would have to hurry if they wanted a chance to get out of the keep alive, now that Daenerys had her dragon trained on the keep.   
  
“Come on let’s go or this fucking shithole is going to crush us all.” It’s Clegane that says it this time and both Jaime and Pod get to their feet, Brienne lying between them, her armour now a blue-black pile by Pod’s feet.   
  
“Who-“, Podrick starts, looking hopefully over at the Hound and Jaime is momentarily grateful whilst a bit amused that Podrick would even consider asking something so ridiculous from the man, when the hound cuts him off sharply. “I’m not carrying that fucking cunt. She tore my fucking ear off.”   
  
Podrick winces as if he just remembered that and shrinks a little bit, before looking over to Jaime, as if he ever had to ask. There is no way Pod would have managed her, and Jaime himself isn’t sure he will manage, what with the little strength he still has to hold himself upright, but he nods anyway. He glares at Clegane for a second before he thrusts Oathkeeper at Podrick’s chest. Bending down on shaky knees he picks her up. Brienne isn’t a lightweight, but as Jaime looks down at her, her head nestled against his shoulder, her eyes closed and her face relaxed, he feels a surge of renewed strength. He would get them out of here, alive.

* * *

Brienne dips in and out of consciousness. Sometimes it’s bright light and noises, other’s just darkness and a quiet calm that greets her when she reaches consciousness, before being pulled back under, swept away back into the blackness, as if the waves of a great sea take her down into their depth. In those moments she is aware of her body, aware of her every muscle aching. But before the pain can grow too much it’s gone again, only a fleeting memory as unconsciousness takes her once more.  
  
Sometimes there are images, memories, she thinks, keeping her company, but those often leave her aching as well. Jaime, cradling Cersei’s face lovingly as he looks at her, begs her to run away. A man in armour, taller and broader than her, striking at her with his sword. The frantic knowledge of knowing that she can’t beat him with brutal force and won’t be able to outdo him. Not being able to breathe as she looks at Jaime, standing in the middle of a courtyard, his hand on Widow’s Wails hilt as he looks at her, torn and desperate, as her vision starts to swim and fade. The knowledge that she will die. His name, a constant in her mind. _Jaime.  
_  
When Brienne wakes, it’s not slow and soft and easy, it’s rough and harsh and she coughs and splutters, like she had been about to drown, like she was woken from a nightmare she can’t recall, heaving in breath after aching breath. Her head feels like it’s about to split apart and when she swallows her throat feels rough as if she is trying to swallow down a handful of sand.   
  
She falls back onto her pillow, trying to calm her breathing as she takes down lungful after lungful of cool breaths. Her eyes try to adjust to her new surroundings, but she has no idea where she is. It’s bright, too bright for her liking, and she squints her eyes shut, groaning as her head pounds and aches with a new wave of stabbing pain. She feels slightly sick and takes another deep breath hoping to keep nausea and pain at bay.   
  
Brienne opens her eyes again, trying to decipher where she is. The noises she can hear are loud. Men yelling orders and people talking. The clank of metal, the rattling of wagons, the neighing of horses. It sounds like the encampment all those years ago, when she had been with Renly, serving in his Kingsguard. She takes in the muddy brown cloth and beams and suddenly it makes some sense. She actually is in some kind of encampment, though where she has no idea. Is she still in King’s Landing? How long has she been under?  
  
“Brienne.” She gets torn from her musing when she hears that all too familiar voice utter her name, soft and reverent as if he can’t believe it. She had thought she had been alone, but the soft pressure on her right hand tells a different story.   
  
She shifts in her cot, earning another sharp, stabbing throb of her head for her grief and she groans once more, closing her eyes to breathe through the pain. However, when she opens her eyes, there he is, looking to all the world like nothing ever happened. His hair is a bit longer than it had been back in Winterfell and maybe his beard is a little fuller, a bit scruffier, but other than that he is unchanged, untouched by what must have happened. She can’t remember.  When his green eyes meet hers, she feels how her heart picks up speed, beating more rapidly in her chest, because she suddenly realizes that he is okay. He survived. Somehow, against all odds, Jaime is alive and well and so is she. Her throat goes tight with the knowledge and she feels on the verge of tears. She fights against the urge because her head still feels like someone smashed it against a brick wall and starting to cry now would only make it worse.   
  
“How do you feel?”, he asks softly, his eyes never leaving hers, his thumb stroking a soothing pattern into the back of her hand as he watches her. She wants to laugh at the ridiculous question, but refrains from that as well, due to the ever-persistent ache and throb of her head.  
  
“How do you think?”, she rasps, her voice laced with a hint of indignation, but there’s a little tug at the corner of Jaime’s lips as the words leave her mouth. Without her having to prompt him, a goblet of water appears in front of her, and Brienne sits up a bit straighter in her cod, before taking it and swallowing the water down in a few large gulps. The cool liquid soothes her raw and aching throat and when she hands the goblet back to Jaime, she feels a bit better than before.  
  
Silence settles over them as they look at each other and Jaime’s hand finds its way back to hers, after having disposed of the goblet. It’s a warm familiar feeling having his hand holding hers, soothing and giving comfort as his thumb goes back to stroking patterns into the back of her hand. For a second, Brienne revels in the moment, in the comfort Jaime gives her, in the knowledge that they are both alive, that they survived King’s Landing and a dragon raining fire down on them. But then Jaime’s voice breaks the silence, pulling her out of that precious moment. “How much do you remember of what happened?”  
  
She tries to think on that, make sense of the jumbled little pieces she has, not knowing what was dream and which reality. “I don’t know. Not a lot, I think. It’s like fragments. Blurry and incoherent. I remember you though, with her.” She is certain about that at least, finding Jaime with her, and just remembering seeing him like that, makes a very different pain course through her as her throat closes up, so Brienne doesn’t speak her name on purpose. Jaime, though, visibly stiffens, just by her alluding to his sister. She can see it in the sudden tightness in his shoulders, and the rigid set of his jaw. However, he tries to reign in his features opting for unfazed neutrality even though Brienne knows there are a lot of feelings to unpack there. She moves on, skirting the topic and giving him a reprieve for now. They will have to talk about that eventually, but it doesn’t have to be today.  
  
“Where are we?”, she asks instead, trying for a different topic and still being able to fill in some of the blanks her unconsciousness has left her with. For all she knows, they could be somewhere between King’s Landing and the Wall and she would be none the wiser.   
  
“Camp outside King’s Landing. Not much left of the city though.” Jaime’s voice is steady, but there is a hint of tightness there, almost unperceivable, but it’s there non the less, as if he tries to reign in what he really feels. Brienne’s stomach churns with hearing him say those words because it means thousands upon thousands of innocent people had died in the fall and destruction of the city she had tried to save. Flitting images come back to her of screaming people scared for their lives and charred corpses lying in the streets. The stench of burned flesh fills her nose for a moment and the urge to vomit hits her again, but she keeps herself in check, closing her eyes for a few steadying breaths. When she opens her eyes once more, meeting Jaime’s, he looks worried as if her face had given away her thoughts.   
  
“You couldn’t have done anything else, Brienne. A lot of people were saved because of you. You can’t save everyone.” His words are soft, cautious as if he isn’t quite certain this is the right thing to say, but she appreciates his effort to soothe her mind. She knows he is right, she does, but it doesn’t help the odd feeling settling in her stomach.  It’s like she has still failed somehow. She hadn’t even managed to find Arya, as she had got so caught up in having found Jaime. Arya. Podrick. Suddenly, her throat is dry again and the lump there is all the more present. Were they alive? Had they managed to get out of the city? Had Pod found Arya?   
“Jaime is Pod – Is he alive?”, she asks, her voice breaking as she utters the words, hoping that her squire got out of that wretched city in one piece and isn’t buried under rubble or burned to a charred corpse.   
  
“Podrick is just fine.”, Jaime assures her with the hint of a smile and the relief Brienne feels is like breaking through the water after a long dive and finally being able to breathe again. It’s sweet and cool and like a rush, instant and overwhelming. Podrick is alive. “Though, we both do owe him our lives. If it hadn’t been for him, we both probably wouldn’t have made it out alive.”   
  
The relief Brienne had felt so pointily instantly becomes tinged with dread. Knowing that he is alive is one thing, but knowing that he had been there, with them, up in the Red Keep, laying his life on the line, was a whole different thing, that even the knowledge of his well-being couldn’t dampen. She wants to ask why wants to know what had driven her squire, but knows that Jaime won’t have answers, she will have to ask Podrick himself to get the answers to those questions. So instead she asks the question Jaime does have an answer for. “How?”  
  
“He came looking for you, Arya Stark and the Hound on his heels. I had tried getting the Mountain off you, threatening– “, he stops there for a moment, collecting, steeling himself, but Brienne already knows who he means. “Her. But the Mountain wouldn’t let you go, and she was too stubborn to call him off to save herself, probably thinking I wouldn’t hurt her.”  
  
Brienne knows that they are skirting the topic she had wanted to avoid for Jaime’s sake and maybe for her own selfish little reasons as well, but she had to know something, had to make sense of at least a few of the pieces. But now that he has started talking Jaime seems determined to see it through, tell her some of what had happened after she had blacked out. “The only thing that finally did get the Mountain to leave you be was seeing his brother. He dropped you like a stone and went to engage the Hound in combat. Arya was the one who got us out through a secret passageway after everything was said and done.” So, it really had been Podrick and his companions that had gotten them safely out of King’s Landing. It had been Pod who had found Arya, not her, and Jaime hadn’t been the knight in shining armour, at least not from what she could deceiver of his tale. Pod had made good on her promise to Sansa to look after Arya and even though she technically had tried to keep her promise to Tyrion to save Jaime, she felt like keeping Jaime alive had also been Pod’s achievement, not hers.   
  
"Stubborn fool. I told him to get out of the city once he found Arya." Brienne’s chin wobbles slightly as she once more thinks about the possibility of Pod dying in King’s Landing, because she hadn’t been able to save him.  _And he went and saved you, didn’t he?_   
  
"I think he got that from you, being stubborn." She looks up, meeting Jaime’s gaze once more and there is that small smile playing around his lips again, as he squeezes her hand reassuringly. "He is very protective of you. Good Podrick was very much against me being here. He thought you wouldn’t want me to be."   
Brienne bites her lip as Jaime’s words open a whole new floodgate she hadn’t wanted to touch upon. She looks at him, really looks at him, at his longer hair and scruffy beard and those eyes that look tired, like he hasn’t slept well for the last few days, the emerald more subdued than usual. _I love you_ , she thinks, because she does, she knows she does, has known for quite some time and still, sitting here, how could she tell him this now, after everything, after him leaving, going to his own death, willingly. The elation she had felt only minutes prior about their survival of the attack on King’s Landing slowly seeps away, leaving behind the hollow coldness she had felt after Jaime had left her behind in Winterfell. She swallows hard around the lump in her throat and she can see that Jaime knows something has shifted, away from the almost casual atmosphere to something way more loaded and significant.   
  
"Brienne." Jaime’s voice is soft, his eyes intent on hers as he utters her name full of tenderness, but she can’t take this sudden softness, this familiarity that somehow, after everything that happened since that night in Winterfell, seems like it doesn’t fit anymore. She draws her hand back, out of his warm, comforting grasp, leaving his hand lying there, next to her, limp and seemingly out of place.   
  
"I'm sorry." Her words are barely more than a whisper, and she has to keep her chin from wobbling again as the words tumble out of her. She won’t let him see her cry again.  
  
"Brienne, there is nothing you have to be sorry about. It's me that should be on my knees begging you to forgive me." She can see in his eyes that he means it, that he is sincere because there is the same tenderness in his eyes that has been there ever since the feast at Winterfell, even though there are smudges and flecks of hurt and sadness there too. But she can’t take him looking at her like that, so in a bit of a cowardly move, she closes her eyes and tries to breathe through another wave of pain and nausea that hits her, before opening her eyes once more.   
  
"It's okay Jaime. I understand, but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt. Not after everything we've been through." Her words are still barely more than a whisper and for once, with her head throbbing and her emotions so in turmoil that she isn’t able to reign them back in, she feels lost, fragile almost, if not in body than at least in mind and she hates it.   
  
"No, you don't, Brienne. All of this has never been what you think. I–" Jaime is about to launch into more, she can see it on his face, trying to explain, rationalize, what he has done, but she can’t take it, not now, not here, not after almost dying, so she cuts him off. "It's okay, you don't have to explain. You love her and I was foolish enough to think–“, her voice cracks and she bites her lip again, so her chin won’t do its telling wobble that will ruin the bit of composure she still has left. "I'm glad you are alive. I'm glad that I got to see you again, but–"   
  
She doesn’t get to finish, because this time it’s Jaime who interrupts her, his eyes wild, like he can’t believe what she is saying. "Brienne, look at me."   
Jaime’s hand is suddenly at her neck, probably right over a bruise she is sure to be sporting from her run-in with the Mountain’s chokehold, his thumb at her chin, tilting her face so she doesn’t have a choice but to meet his eyes. Tenderness is still swirling in the depth of his eyes, but there are so many other emotions that Brienne can’t put a name to. His gaze is intense, intent on her and when he speaks his voice is steady, but still so unbelievably soft. "There is a lot I have to explain, I know. But one thing you have to know is that-"   
  
But Jaime doesn’t get to finish his sentence as another, stronger wave of nausea hits Brienne, and all she can do is lean over the side of her cod and vomit all over Jaime’s boots.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this again took longer than it should have, but I went through multiple rewrites with this chapter and in the end, decided that I would have to do things differently than I had planned in the beginning. So, that's why there are now at least three more chapters to come. 
> 
> Thank you again to everyone who commented or has left a kudo. 
> 
> A big thank you also goes out to my friend supper-party over on Tumblr as she helped me figure out a lot of what was off with this chapter and made such a difference at how I looked at the rest of this story as a whole.

“Oh god, Brienne, are you alright? Are you hurting? What can I do? Brienne! Brienne? Fuck!” Jaime is rambling next to her. His voice is filled with worry as she empties the contents of her stomach onto his boots. He seems frantic, helpless, but Brienne can’t focus on him as the meagre remains of her food make their way back up her throat. But he is there, as helpless as he is, his hand on her back rubbing soothing circles into her muscles and sweeping fallen strands of her hair behind her ear every so often.  
  
Once her stomach has emptied itself, she keeps dry heaving, her head pounding worse than ever before and she wishes she would just pass out again. Jaime is still by her side, rambling, worried, not knowing what to do, still rubbing circles into her back as she keeps heaving. He sounds hazy and far away, but the worry in his voice is evident.

Brienne is somewhat aware of the flaps of the tent opening at some point, and suddenly Podrick is by her side, another hand on her back, as she takes long, steadying breaths, filling her lungs over and over again with cold, fresh air trying to calm her rapidly beating heart. Her head is still throbbing without mercy, and the nausea still persists, but she hopes she won’t have to do another round of dry heaving. 

Podrick guides her back onto her cod, laying her down on her pillow and applying a damp cloth to her forehead. The cold dampness is a short but blessed relive, and for a bit, breathing becomes more manageable, and the pain ebbs slightly. Through the lightened haze of the aching and throbbing, she is aware that Podrick has asked someone to send for the maester, but she is even more aware of the shifted atmosphere in the tent as Pod sits down at the table. All of a sudden, it feels tense like a tunic is stretched too tightly over bulging muscle, ready to tear and split apart at any moment.  The look on Podrick’s face is full of resentment, Jaime, on the other hand, seems to be unfazed by Pod’s scrutiny. The silence that settles between them is thick and heavy with unspoken words. A silence none of them seem to want to break.  
  
It’s a blessed relief when the flaps to the tent open once more, admitting an old man, dressed in beige robes, his neck adorned with a heavy chain, that clinks with every step he takes towards her. His face is kind as he inspects the injury on her head and inquires after her general health. Brienne tries to answer as well as she can, but sometimes his words seem fuzzy or are hard to grasp as her head keeps pounding and throbbing throughout the entirety of the maester’s examination.  
  
A few gentle presses of the hand here and strokes of paper-skinned fingers there and he assures her that she’ll be fine. Another few days of rest should do the trick, though she should expect her head to keep on hurting for at least another handful of day, though he tells her not to worry about that too much. It’s a relief hearing those words and Brienne can see that Podrick and Jaime are just as relieved with the news as she is. Pod looks like a weight has been lifted off his chest while Jaime gives her a small smile and squeezes her hand in reassurance, his emerald eyes alight with a spark of happiness. But as honey sweet as the news has been, soon the tension settles back into their silence and Brienne can feel it wear on her, wondering how long this newfound animosity between Podrick and Jaime has been going on.

“Ser Jaime, I think it is time for you to leave. Ser Brienne needs to rest, and you have overstayed your welcome as it is.” That Pod’s teeth aren’t grinding as he says the words to Jaime seems to be an effort of great strength for her squire. Jaime though seems still unfazed, his eyes still on her as Podrick speaks to him.

“I think it’s for Ser Brienne to decide whether she wants me here or not,” Jaime responds, turning around to face Podrick, looking self-assured – certain even – that she will take his side in this.

But Brienne meets Podrick’s gaze, biting her lip, unable to voice that she would like Jaime to leave, wants, needs time to think and work through her emotions and the things that have shaken up her life so recently and Pod understands without a word. He heads towards the entrance and informs the guards there to take Ser Jaime back to his tent. The look in Jaime’s eyes when he realises it is her wish for him to leave is devastating. His eyes plead her silently, beseech her not to send him away, to not do this to him, and for a fleeting second Brienne’s resolve falters, reminded of all those times they had had to say goodbye to each other with so many words left unsaid. But she needs time and space, needs him gone for at least a short while so she can work out what all of this means. Surviving the Battle of King’s Landing and getting a second chance. At life. At love. At a future. A future she hadn’t expected and most of all didn’t know she wanted anymore. Not after everything that had happened.

Podrick comes back with one of the guards and the burly man in northern armour seizes Jaime’s arm, trying to pull him out of the chair and out of the tent, but he wrangles out of the guards hold, his eyes never leaving Brienne’s.  
  
“Brienne,” he pleads, his eyes swimming with hurt, sadness and so, so much more that she can’t deal with right now. She feels her throat constrict as she looks into his eyes, sees all those unspoken words, all those swirling emotions and has to look away, closing her eyes against the storm she sees there. She stays silent as Jaime calls out to her again, but she can hear two sets of feet move away only moments later.  
  
The silence he leaves behind is wrought with heaviness, and for a few moments, Brienne just sits there and breathes as the hurt continues to simmer under the surface. When she opens, her eyes  Pod is still there, standing at the foot of her cod, looking at her, his face just as torn by emotions as she suspects her own to be. He doesn’t ask questions though, doesn’t pity her and she is grateful for that. Instead, he moves around the bed and takes the chair Jaime had vacated.  
  
His voice is quiet and soothing as he talks, telling her about what had been going on for the last day and a half, as she had lain unconscious. Podrick doesn’t know much, but he had tried his best to gather information, so she would know at least some of what had been going on around her since the battle. But as her head keeps pounding and the topic of politics is exhausted fast, Pod ventures into reminiscing over old times. He is just diving into the retelling of one of their sparring sessions that had left Pod utterly bruised and happy when Brienne realises that she has no idea where her sword is, nor her armour for that matter. Oathkeeper. Thinking of having lost the sword Jaime had gifted to her makes her feel sick all over again.

“Pod,” she interrupts him with a shaky voice, and the look on her squire’s face speaks of worry as she takes her in. “Where is Oathkeeper?” She feels queasy, hoping that Podrick’s answer won’t be “I don’t know.” But as she focuses on him again, she can see a bright, beaming smile plastered onto his face and she can instantly feel that familiar surge of relief. “I have it. You armour, too, m’lady. I polished it, and it’s all good and well and ready for you to use again.”  
  
Brienne nods, noting his sudden fall back on the title she refused to wear so frequently but doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he thanks him for taking care of it for her and asks him to bring it over the next time he comes around.   
  
After that day, they quickly develop a routine, just like they had when they were travelling the lands together. Podrick keeps watch over her as she rests, gets her food and water whenever she asks and tries to keep her as informed as he can of the goings on in the camp and the Kingdoms. Brienne hates that she can’t really move around or focus for long stretches of time.  Hates that she has to depend on Podrick, who assures her he doesn’t mind.  She feels like a caged animal more often than not, as people fuzz over her, tell her to rest and not worry. She isn’t made for this, for sitting around, for doing nothing, because then her thoughts get the better of her. Thoughts of Jaime, thoughts of what he had done, thoughts about King’s Landing ablaze with fire, thoughts about her vows and her feelings and her future.  
  
Podrick sometimes tries to talk to her about it, about Jaime, always starting with “Ser Jaime –“ but she always cuts him off then. It would hurt too much, knowing what Podrick wants to say and if anything, it’s not Pod who should try to explain, but Jaime himself. Jaime though, doesn’t come back, doesn’t seek her out again and that is fine by her, but it hurts just as well.

Sometimes, Pod finds her with Oathkeeper lying over her lap as she thinks about him, about them and she can see for the flicker of a second how Pod feels for her, aches and hurts for her, before her squire dons another one of his warm smiles, letting a boisterous remark fall from his lips.  
  
Caged as she feels, trapped in a tent only with her thoughts, she often feels like she is being torn apart as her heart often and loudly proclaims how much she misses Jaime, how much she loves him, while her mind says she should feel quite different about the whole thing and that it isn’t that easy. The only reprieve she finds is in the memory of home, of Tarth. Long sandy beaches, still clear blue water stretching out as far as the eye can see, sprawling meadows filled with wildflowers, surrounded by lush green trees. She thinks of lying in her meadow, of sitting on the beach and inhaling the old familiar scent of the salty sea on the summer breeze. She thinks about diving into the ocean or the cool pools of crystal-clear water that are fed by sprawling waterfalls, letting the water engulf her and take her under. In those moments, her mind quiets, and the ache and throb of her head subside. 

By the time Sansa arrives in King’s Landing, Brienne almost feels back to health, though she still experiences bouts of sickness from time to time and sleep keeps evading her at night, with her mind continually swirling with thoughts of Jaime, the future, the past and everything in between.

It is that very same evening that Sansa comes into her tent, a flurry of black and grey wool and fiery red hair as Brienne is starting to retire for the day and all of the sudden she is faced with the proud Lady of Winterfell standing in the midst of her tent, looking at her intently.  
  
“Ser Brienne,” Sansa addresses her as Brienne greets her in turn and for a moment they just stand there, watching each other before Sansa breaks the silence.  
  
“I’ve heard about what happened from Lord Tyrion.” Brienne can see her eyes flitting over her features, taking her in, glancing at her neck, where the bruises she had sported have turned from a garish blueish purple to a faded, barely there yellow. “How are you holding up? I can’t imagine what it must have been like.”  
  
“I’m fine, my lady,” Brienne replies as she claps her hands behind her back. “Nothing to worry about.” But when Brienne’s eyes find Sansa’s she can see that the Lady of Winterfell doesn’t seem convinced. She doesn’t inquire further, though. Instead, words fall from her lips that have Brienne even more in a twist, grabbing her hand hard behind her back. “I heard about Ser Jaime as well.”  
  
Her throat goes dry with the mention of his name, and the twin sparks of hurt and anger start simmering beneath her skin again. It has been like that for the last few days. A heady mixture of annoyance, anger, hurt and longing had started to bubble whenever her thoughts strayed to him, or she had heard his name. Now was not an exception, and Brienne had to close her eyes for a moment to reign in her emotions.  
  
“Don’t. Please.” The words come harsher than expected, and when Brienne opens her eyes to take in Sansa’s reaction, she can see a short flicker of surprise on her lady’s face before it’s gone as quick as it had come. She nods in acknowledgement gathering her skirts in her hands as she addresses Brienne once more.  
  
 “If there is anything I can do or if there is anything you need, let me know,” she says, looking at Brienne with earnestness and understanding. Brienne nods, still gripping her hand behind her back so hard she fears she might have bruised herself. “I will.”  
  
Sansa takes her leave then, making her way to the entrance but before she vanishes through the flaps, she looks back over her shoulder to where Brienne is still standing in the middle of her tent. There is a small smile playing around her lips, and then the tent flaps close and Brienne is alone once more.  
  
She sees Sansa again the next day, standing on the raised plateau of the dragon pit under canvas awnings, the Lady of Winterfell glances over at Brienne, nodding in acknowledgement before taking her seat. She is with Arya and – surprisingly –   Bran. Other familiar and unfamiliar faces are clustered around the perimeter, Davos and Gendry, Sam and Tyrion, a man distinctly looking like he is a representative of Dorne by his clothing. The sigils of the Vale and the Tully’s adorning the doublets of others. Jon and Jaime are suspiciously absent.

Once everyone has settled, the first of the trials begin, and Brienne thinks it really shouldn’t have been a surprise when they lead him in front of the gathered council, but it still is. Jaime. Seeing him being led forth by a guard has a cold shower running through her, icy and persistent and suddenly the annoyance and anger she had felt so recently whenever she had thought about him bleed away, leaving only the hurt and longing from him in its place. 

He looks worse than the last time Brienne has seen him, haggard, his hair greasy, his face smeared with dirt and when he looks up, his green eyes finding hers, they seem far duller than she can ever remember them being. It reminds her horribly of that night just after he had lost his hand when he had wanted to die when he had given up on life.

It is Tyrion who speaks up, interrupting the silence which had settled over the pit upon Jaime’s arrival. “Ser Jaime Lannister accused of killing Queen Cersei Lannister.” The words hang heavy over the gathered crowd, each like a slap to Brienne. She had thought that if anything, Jaime would stand accused of treason against Queen Daenerys, for conspiring to save Cersei. Not for her death. But Jaime just stands there, keeps looking at her, as the silence in the pit stretches and lengthens, and Brienne feels insurmountably stupid for not hearing him out, for not giving him the chance to explain. Now, depending on how the trial would go, she might never get to hear it.

She can hear the softly whispered “Kingslayer” and “Queenslayer” making the rounds as the highborn lords and ladies keep staring at him like a curious animal, like a spectacle. Brienne feels uneasy as the nausea comes back and settles heavily in the pit of her stomach. _He might die today, and you shunned him, cast him aside, didn’t listen._

It’s Sansa who addresses him once more, casting a quick glance over to Brienne before she speaks. “Ser Jaime, upon leaving Winterfell what was your intention and how did the death of your sister come about?”

Jaime’s eyes leave Brienne for a second, focusing on Sansa, before returning to her and as he begins to speak, it is like he is only addressing her. Like she is the only one whose judgement of his acts matter. “Upon hearing the news about the attack on Queen Daenerys’ fleet, I knew I had to do something. My intention had been saving my sister, getting her out of the Seven Kingdoms, her and my unborn child.” Murmurs rise up as the lords and ladies begin whispering to each other behind their hands, while Brienne has to close her eyes and concentrate on breathing. Cersei had been pregnant with Jaime’s child when he had left her to come to the North.  She had been pregnant with his child when he had taken Brienne to bed. She had been pregnant for the weeks they had spent together happily. Cersei had been pregnant. Brienne feels tears stinging her eyes, but she vows not to cry in front of all these people. She berates herself for not going to Jaime, for not asking him to lay it all out, to explain what had happened, but she had been so occupied with everything else. Had thought they would have this conversation in due time because they had time now, they had survived, but it seemed fate had other plans. Still, she wished she could have had this conversation without all these witnesses.

When she opens her eyes again, Jaime’s are still on her. He is clearly uncomfortable in his own skin, his eyes sad and full of shame for what he had laid bare in front of her. “I went to save her.”, he starts once more, his eyes sweeping over the gathered crowd before landing on her again. “But upon getting to King’s Landing, I realised that she was beyond saving. She ordered Qyburn to destroy King’s Landing with the wildfire she had stashed under the city. So, I killed him to stop that from happening. She also ordered her guard, Ser Gregor Clegane, to kill Ser Brienne.” A shudder runs through Brienne upon hearing those words, feeling the phantom hold of a strong arm wrapped around her throat all over again. She still doesn’t remember a lot of those moments right before she lost consciousness, but the cold, stark knowledge of dying and the arm wrapped around her throat have been ever-present since she had woken up.

“I tried threatening her, so she would order Ser Gregor to leave off Ser Brienne, which she did not. Only the appearance of the Hound, Arya Stark and Podrick Payne finally got Ser Gregor off Ser Brienne as he proceeded to engage his brother in combat.” More murmurs run through the crowd, but Jaime continues, his eyes once more sweeping over the gathered lords and ladies. “With my sister stripped off her support from both Qyburn and Ser Gregor, I killed her.” The murmurs suddenly rise in volume, growing to chatter and irritated shouting as people start getting into heated discussions. Jaime just stands there, in the middle of the pit, his eyes finding hers again as no one pays them any mind. There in his eyes, she can see that while having spoken the truth, Jaime had omitted some of the story on purpose. Sorrow and sadness are swimming in those green eyes, brimming with unspoken words that he hadn’t dared to utter in front of all these people that would judge him. _Just like when he killed Aerys, he lets them judge him by his actions, not his reasons._

The council is still talking all around them, the words “Kingslayer” and “Queenslayer” prominent as they give Jaime condescending looks and Brienne feels bile rise up from her stomach. All of these highborn lords and ladies judging him for something none of them would have been able to do, for trying to save King’s Landing all over again when he had realised, he couldn’t save his sister from what she had turned into. He had tried saving innocent lives all, and here they sat, all high and mighty, feeling like they were allowed to judge someone who had done one of the hardest things there was, going against his own sibling because it was necessary.

This time it’s Arya who silences the crowd by relaying her version of the events and speaking up on Jaime’s behalf. The Hound and even Podrick join her example and soon the insistent prattle of the highborn lords and ladies has died down. They all look at him, standing in the middle of the plateau, filthy and haggard, before dismissing him to find a suitable sentence.

Brienne is barely able to listen, her mind reeling with what she has learned while speculating what he has held back, what he hadn’t said, what he hadn’t wanted any of them to know. She hears words like pardon and exile, stripping of titles and reinstatement. Tyrion a loud voice in favour of his brother being pardoned and becoming heir to Casterly Rock. It’s Sansa who addresses her, asks her if there is anything she would like to say on Jaime’s behalf. When she looks at Sansa, her eyes are warm and encouraging, and there is a small smile playing around the corner of her mouth as the Lady of Winterfell looks at her. So, she stands and addresses the council.

“My Lords, My Ladies, I have said this before to Lady Sansa, but Ser Jaime is a good man. An honourable man. What he did, he did because he believed it to be the right thing and I don’t think we are allowed to judge that. He killed Queen Cersei to save King’s Landing from destruction by wildfire and even though he didn’t succeed in preventing the destruction of the city, he tried, which is more than a lot of us can say for ourselves.” Her eyes sweep over the assembled lords and ladies, familiar and unfamiliar faces, all looking at her and she can hear the rise a mumbling as she takes her seat once more. Glances find their way over to her as they keep whispering, but Sansa is quick to put an end to the murmurs and take charge of the following discussions, directing their attention back to the matter at hand.  
  
Brienne’s mind keeps flitting between paying attention to the goings-on around her, anxious for Jaime’s fate, while simultaneously being hung up on what she had seen, what she had heard and what Jaime hadn’t said. Brienne knows she has to talk to him and soon, preferably alone. She bites her lip and fidgets with the hem of her jerkin as she keeps listening to the discussions, but she can’t help but let out a sigh of relief when they finally come to the conclusion that Jaime should be pardoned, seeing as he had, after all, done the realm some good by ending his sister’s life. Brienne thinks stating it like that is vile and undeserving, but upon seeing the weight lift from Jaime’s shoulders when Sansa tells him of the pardon, she forgets about it altogether. Relief is starkly painted all over his features, still smeared with dirt, but his eyes when they find Brienne’s are already brighter than before, even though the sadness still lingers there.

It feels like they are looking at each other for ages, blue meeting green before a guard escorts Jaime off the plateau and out of the pit. His eyes had pleaded with her again. _Please come, please talk to me, please let me explain_. And Brienne knows she will, knows he had seen it in her eyes because there had been the beginnings of that lopsided smile growing on Jaime’s face just before the guard had led him away.

After Jaime has been pardoned, they bring in Jon, looking equally as haggard and dirty as Jaime and his trial for killing Queen Daenerys ends on a similar note. Another pardon is given as the lords and ladies considered Jon’s actions a service to the realm as well, though they had needed much less convincing in Jon’s case with the Starks adamant on seeing Jon pardoned.

More days filled with trials follow, but things seem to proceed somewhat civil all things considered. Jon and Jaime, as representatives of great houses, are both excluded from sitting on the councils for the trials, seeing as it had been decided that they weren’t fit to judge with their recent history. And so, days go by without Brienne seeing Jaime, even though she had wanted to, but most days, after the trials are done for the day, she falls into bed, tired and exhausted. Brienne still feels off and not back to her usual health even though it has been a full cycle of the moon since the battle of King’s Landing. She isn’t too worried though, just annoyed with her body for taking its time to recuperate. That is until the morning of the last council meeting. There would be no trials today, but a meeting to decide how the realm should be ruled going forth, seeing as King’s Landing was utterly destroyed and there currently was no King or Queen contending for the throne.

As usual, Podrick brings her breakfast, steaming and fragrant and the moment the smell wafts over to where she is sitting, her stomach starts roiling, and the nausea is back, though her head keeps from pounding like she is used to. She looks suspiciously down at the plate when Podrick sets it down in front of her, pocking and stabbing at the proffered food without the desire to consume any of it. Just the prolonged exposure to the smell makes her want to heave. The thought of actually choking some of the food down seems utterly impossible. Pod has been talking all the while, not noticing that she hasn’t touched her breakfast at all, until he looks up from where he is sitting on the other side of the tent, busy with her armour he had brought by days ago.

“Are you alright, m’lady You look a bit green around the nose.” Brienne looks over at Podrick, trying for a smile, but she knows she fails miserably. Pod scrambles to his feet in an instant and is at her side in a few quick strides. He takes a look at her untouched plate, the mangled food and says with a voice not brooking any argument “I’m going to get the master,” before swiftly disappearing out of the tent. For a moment, she watches the place where Pod had vanished before the nausea becomes too much, and she pushes the plate away. She closes her eyes and concentrates on breathing as her stomach keeps roiling. She loses the fight against her body eventually, submitting to the need to empty the content of her stomach into a bucket she finds in the corner of her tent.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go again. I'll stop making excuses and just say that it will probably take me this long every time to post another chapter. I'm sorry. 
> 
> I'm eternally grateful for the support this story has received so far, so a big thank you goes out to all of you out there that stuck with this story. I promise we are now fast approaching the happily ever after portion of this fic.
> 
> A big thank you also goes out to supper-party on Tumblr once more, because just like last time she helped put the finishing touches on this chapter ♥ .

Darkness is all he sees. It’s everywhere. Jaime feels like he has run for days, weeks, years even, but it’s still only black, never lighter. Just black. Dark and all-consuming. Like nothing can break through this vast expense of pure and utter darkness.  
  
Sometimes there are whispers. _Kingslayer. Oathbreaker. Man without honour._ Faint and far away, a reminder of his past, his present and his future. But Jaime isn’t deterred by them, not anymore. He keeps on stumbling through the dark. Keeps running. Keeps falling. There is nothing else to do, and he still hopes that there will be light. Somewhere. Somehow.   
  
He stumbles again, falling to his knees when he hears it. _Jaime._ A soft whisper, a sigh off a woman’s lips. Brienne’s lips.  
  
He gets up, looks around, but there is still only darkness. _Jaime._ It comes again. A whisper floating through the blackness. This time it’s Cersei’s sweet voice. His name a promise.  
  
_Jaime._ Brienne once more, her voice louder, more insistent and he begins to run again, chasing after the source of her voice. _Jaime._ Cersei’s call, louder even than Brienne before. _Jaime. Jaime. Jaime._ They keep calling him, and he runs and runs and runs, but the voices don’t grow louder anymore. Still, he runs, never stopping. _Jaime._ They call in unison. And then there is silence. He pauses, listens for either of their voices as he tries to keep from panting, but they have gone.  
  
He sinks to the floor, breathing heavily as his last hope fades and the darkness begins to creep into his mind. He is lost. Forever damned to this never-ending hell of darkness. There is no escape.  
  
That is when the screaming starts. Far off and distant. Still, the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stand on edge as the scream echoes through the darkness. A scream of hurt and despair. A scream he would recognise anywhere.  
  
“Brienne,” he calls into the black, but nothing but her screams come back. He is on his feet in an instant. Forgotten is the hopelessness that had started creeping into his bones. Forgotten is the tiredness of his legs or the soreness of his muscles.  
  
“Brienne,” he calls again as he sets off, but still she doesn’t respond. He runs and runs and runs, but there is nothing but darkness and Brienne’s ever-present screams. Every one of them like a stab to the heart. _She isn’t here. I won’t find her. I can’t find her. She’ll die.  
  
_But her screams continue, and so, Jaime keeps running. Running through the never-ending blackness, until suddenly the screams stop, and he is surrounded by bright white light and nothing else. He blinks rapidly, shielding his eyes with his left hand as he tries to make out what has happened, but there is only whiteness where there had been blackness. Moments pass and finally the glaring light fades, revealing shapes. High arches, red shingles, a sprawling map of beige and blue and there, in its midst, Cersei, dressed in a green gown, her long golden curls cascading down her back.  
  
“Cersei,” he breathes, his voice faint as her name falls from his lips and she turns around. Her eyes find his, alight with joy and surprise at seeing him there and her voice, when she speaks his name, is sweet and barely louder than his own. A smile tugs at the corner of her lips – warm, not cold or cruel – and she beckons him to her, reaching her arms out towards him. He goes willingly, filled with relief at having escaped the never-ending darkness. At seeing her. Only then does he realise the swell of her belly, round under her green gown.  
  
“Cersei,” her name falls from his lips again, disbelieving, as he lays his hand on her swollen belly and his right reaches for her. When he looks up at her, his right hand cradling her face, he sees happiness swim in her eyes. Their child kicks under his hand and Jaime smiles as joy and happiness sweep through him, leaving no room for anything else. A small, disbelieving laugh escapes him, as his child kicks once more, and he pulls Cersei close, burying his hand in her long golden tresses, their child in between their bodies.  
  
It feels like everything he ever wanted come true. Like he couldn’t ask for something more perfect.  
“Jaime.” The voice is faint, filled with hurt, and it lets a cold shower run down his spine. Brienne. How had he forgotten about her? How had the sight of his sister, sweet and beautiful and with child, run every thought of Brienne from his mind? How had he forgotten about her screams of agony, of despair, of hurt which had led him here?  
  
He pulls away from his sister and turns around to face Brienne. There she stands, under one of the archways opening up into the courtyard, dressed in the blue armour he had gifted to her. She looks regal as the sun glints of the polished steel plate and her hand rests on Oathkeeper. But as regal as she appears, her face speaks of hurt as she looks at them. At him.  
  
She studies them, him and Cersei, and moves to unbuckle her sword. The sword he had given to her. _It’s yours. It will always be yours.  
_  
“No.” The word is on his lips in seconds as he takes a few steps towards her and away from his sister. She can’t give it back. It’s hers. It will always be hers. The familiar words are on his tongue. The words he had uttered in Riverrun and would tell her again, but they seem stuck. Lodged somewhere in his throat, unmoving. Because at his back Cersei still stands. Watching. Waiting. He can’t say it. Not now. Not here.  
  
The look on her face is stern as she holds out Oathkeeper, almost thrusting it towards him. A silent shout. _Here take it. I don’t want it. I don’t want any part of you anymore.  
  
_“Brienne.” Her name falls from his lips as his feet carry him towards her. He can’t lose her. He can’t. But every step he takes feels like a fight. Like walking through quicksand. _It’s yours. It will always be yours._  
  
He glances back over his shoulder to where Cersei still stands, her hands resting over her belly, her expression worried as if she is afraid he’ll leave her. Is he? Is he leaving her?  
  
She is carrying his child. He’ll be a father. He’ll have everything he ever wanted with her. And suddenly he is takings a step towards his sister, in the other direction. Away from Brienne, still holding Oathkeeper. Cersei is what he wants. She had always been what he had wanted.

“Stay with me. Please,” the words echo through the courtyard as he is only a few more steps away from his sister and Jaime’s gut twists. Brienne’s voice is wrought with despair, and he can hear the tears in her voice.  
  
When he turns around once more to face the other way, to face Brienne, the armour she had been wearing is gone. She is stripped down, only in a black woollen coat as her chin wobbles and she clenches her fists at her sides. She looks the way he had left her that night in Winterfell. And wilful like always she is trying to get a grip on her emotions, but he can see the tears running down over her cheeks, and Jaime’s heart breaks all over again.  
  
“Brienne,” he calls out to her, his voice shaky as he takes a couple of steps towards her, but Brienne just stands there not deigning him with so much as another glance.  
  
“Brienne,” he calls out again, pleading this time, for what exactly, he doesn’t know.  
  
“Look at me, Brienne. I can explain,” he keeps pleading, but she won’t look at him, her blue eyes hard and unwavering. It’s only a few more steps, when he hears Cersei again, cold this time, all the softness bled out of her voice as if it had never been there.  
  
“Kill her.” Jaime turns around to face Cersei. She is still standing there, but it’s not her. Not the Cersei he had embraced. Not the Cersei that had smiled at him warmly as he had placed his hand over her belly, feeling their child within her. This Cersei is the Queen he had left. This Cersei is the woman that had threated to kill him. This Cersei is haughty and cold.  Her silver crown rests upon her short golden hair and the green, flowing fabric that had caressed her body has been replaced by ridged black cloth. His sister is gone. His lover is gone, and, in her place, there is only the queen. The ruthless monster that had stopped at nothing.  
  
“No! No, Cersei, no,” Jaime yells, but his sister just smirks haughtily, unfazed by his pleading. He swirls around again, his hand going to his sword only to realise there is nothing there. No blade to wield, no handle to grasp. There is nothing else he can do other than watch on, horrified, as the Mountain plunges his sword through Brienne’s back, piercing back wool and flesh until the tip of his sword emerges on the other side, dripping in thick red blood. Brienne’s blue eyes are wide, looking down at where the sword protrudes from her chest, and as she opens her mouth only a rush of blood escapes, swallowing her words. Her hands grasp the blade, smearing her palms with blood as well, as her eyes find Jaime’s, filled with shook and disbelieve.  
  
“Jaime.” His name falls wet and almost unintelligible from her red lips, begging him to do something, but there is nothing to be done. Only for him to look and see what he had caused, what he couldn’t prevent.  
  
With a vicious pull, the Mountain wrenches the blade back, pulling it out of Brienne’s chest and leaving behind a gaping hole. Blood starts streaming down her front, pooling at her feet and spreading over Westeros. It only takes seconds before she is on her knees, her hands pressed to where her flesh gapes apart, her eyes still on him. He wants to scramble to her side, wants to scream, to weep, but nothing happens. He just stands there and watches as the life slowly seeps out of her, as the light in her blue sapphire eyes dims, and he feels the rage inside him building.  
  
When Brienne’s strength finally leaves her, and she crumbles to the floor, her blond hair soaking in her own blood, there is nothing Jaime would want to do more than scream and weep, if it weren’t for that rage. It simmers under his skin, wanting out, wanting to be directed at something, so he rounds on Cersei.  
  
A few quick steps and he is upon her, his hands closing around her throat, squeezing the life out of her. Her hands scratch and scramble at his arms, hands and face, but he abides, closing his eyes against the struggle with death before him.  
  
She had been a monster. He remembers that now. Has seen it again.  Vicious and cold and cruel, wilful and hateful and haughty. She wasn’t the vision he had seen. She wasn’t sweet or warm. She hadn’t been for a long time. How had he forgotten? How had he turned a blind eye? _She is hateful and so am I,_ comes a faint whisper, reminding him that he was no better than her. But behind closed eyes, he can drown out the voice. Can shove away the thoughts of Cersei and her hate and think of Brienne instead. Of her sapphire blue eyes and her rare smile. Her warm weight in his arms and her sword dancing with his.  
  
“Jaime,” she croaks, struggling fiercely for a few seconds, stronger and harder than before, but it doesn’t last. A few more feeble attempts and then the struggle ends and her weight sacks against him. For a few seconds, he just stands there, his sister's dead body lying in his arms before he lays her on the ground and buries his face in his hands. For a few moments afterwards, he can only breath as the knowledge of what he has done sinks in.  
  
He rubs over his face and stands, but as he looks down at the corpse at his feet, the black gown is gone and so is the short hair and the silver crown. In their stead, there is shoulder length straw-coloured hair, brown breeches and a long blue tunic.  
  
A cold shower of dread runs down Jaime’s spin as he crouches down and turns over the corpse, knowing, yet not believing.  
  
Sapphire blue eyes stare back at him. Unseeing. Dead. Angry red marks spread around her neck where he had chocked her. He feels numb as he takes her in further, a pair of invisible hands around his own throat making it hard to breathe.  
  
The blue tunic embroidered with the crescent moon and starburst of Tarth is rounded over her swollen belly. Her hair, which had always been cropped short, falls around her face and down to her shoulders, and there are crinkles around her eyes as if she had learned to laugh, to be happy.  
  
Dread curls through Jaime like icy-cold fingers stretching and snaking down through his veins and reaching every part of his body. He begins to shake, frantic. _What have I done?_ _My fault. It’s my fault. It’s always my fault._  
  
Jaime wakes with a start, utterly disorientated. Every time he blinks dead blue eyes stare back at him. But the blinking doesn’t help to chase away the darkness. Still, he sits there and blinks anyway until his eyes have finally adjusted to his surroundings and he remembers where he is.  
  
It has been like that for days now going on a fortnight he reckons. Every night he would go to sleep, hoping for a night without dreams. Without nightmares. Without reliving over and over again what had happened, only to wake in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat, Brienne’s lifeless eyes staring back at him from the back of his eyelids.  
  
It’s always Brienne’s eyes that haunt him, never Cersei’s. It’s always Brienne’s death he witnesses or causes. By now, there is no way he hasn’t seen her die, but some nights are worse than others.  
  
Once he dreamed of standing in the remains of King’s Landing, a pile of dead at his feet. All the men he had killed in his life. He knew who they were, at least up by his feet. Aerys lay there, but his face had been Brienne’s, not the Mad King’s. And as Jaime had perused the pile of men by his feet, looking at all the man he had killed every face he looked upon had been Brienne’s.  
  
Another night he had dreamed of Brienne plunging thought the floor as the Red Keep crumbled. He had been there. Had reached for her as she had fallen. Had grasped her hand. Had wanted to pull her up, to save her. But Brienne had looked up at him, her eyes sad as her hand slipped on his and told him to just let go. He hadn’t. But there had been no way to save her, weighed down as she was with her armour and him only with his one hand, so her hand kept slipping until it finally slipped away and he saw her plunge into the depth of the Red Keep, never to be seen again.  
  
Tonight had been worse. Tonight had been worse than ever before, but Jaime wasn’t surprised. Not with the trial looming on the morrow. Not with his life soon coming to an end with so many words left unsaid, so many things left to explain.  
  
His life would end tomorrow, he was sure, if not by his head coming off his shoulders, then by being sent off to exile or some other travesty the high lords and ladies saw fit to punish him with. He had faced their scorn once and would again, unseeing and ungrateful as they were. Blundering fools, the lot of them, sitting in their high chairs, judging like they knew anything.  
  
The chain around his ankle rattles as Jaime shifts in his cod. He is cold, but that was nothing new. Having only the thin blanket, they had deigned to give him to huddle under, he counts himself lucky they had even provided him and Jon with cods and hadn’t made them sleep on the cold, damp ground.  
Winter had truly and finally settled over King’s Landing and not even his cherished memories of Brienne were able to warm him anymore, tainted as they were now, with her rejection and his leaving. The memory of her telling Pod to get him out of her sight, out of her tent, still stung every time his thoughts ventured back to that day. But that would end soon, just like everything else would.  
  
The sun had risen high over the camp by the time the guards came to get him for his trial. He had been agitated at first, but as the hours crept by, he had grown desolate. What was he worrying about? What was there left to live for after everything was said and done? Would there be any reason to go on even if he survived today? The answers he finds don’t lift his spirits, but only help to dampen the little silvers of hope.  
  
Still, when they lead him up the plateau and in front of the high lords and ladies to be judged, and he lays eyes on Brienne again, his chest tightens with yearning for her, with longing and remorse and the need to make things right as every one of his heartbeats remind him how much he cares for her still. So, he looks at her instead of them. Drowns out how they look at him with contempt, judging and judging and judging him. He would have snarled and japed at them would he have not been so tired, worn thin and with Brienne’s watchful eyes upon him. So instead, he studies at her, takes her in, notices the little changes since their last meeting and ignores the stares and whispered words that he has felt and heard ever since he was seventeen.  
  
She looks better than she had the last time he had seen her. Her cheeks rosy once again, and her blue eyes are alight with emotions once more, even though she still seems a little tired. Her hair, Jaime thinks, is longer than he remembers. Falling past her jaw in soft waves instead of stopping there like it had back in Winterfell. Nevertheless, she still wears it pushed back and out of her face. He remembers how he had once come close to asking her to wear it more freely, less rigidly pushed back, but he had never uttered the words. Now he won’t get the chance.  
  
Silence has settled over the gathered crowd by then, and Tyrion takes the word proclaiming Jaime’s misdeeds. He can see the silver of shock pass over Brienne’s face for a second before it is gone again, her features rearranged in casual neutrality. But it makes one thing very clear. She hadn’t known till now. She hadn’t known he had been the one to kill Cersei. No one had told her.  
  
Anger starts simmering under his skin with the realisation. How could they have not told her? She had almost died. She had lain unconscious for hours, and no one had explained what had happened to her that day except the for the bits and pieces he had given her. Not even Podrick.  
  
Jaime wanted to scoff. Not even loyal, trusting Pod had thought it wise to tell his lady what had happened but instead had focused his energy on keeping Jaime away. He glanced over at Brienne’s squire, standing by her side. He wanted to sneer at him. Wanted to give the young boy a piece of his mind, but it would do him no good. Not now. So, he tries to dampen the flames simmering under his skin and focus on what is about to happen.  
  
Sansa Stark is the one who finally asks the question they had all been dying to ask and without much hesitation, he tells them what had happened. Only that he doesn’t, not really. He leaves out the essential parts, the reasons, the motivation. They wouldn’t care, wouldn’t listen and he isn’t in the mood to lay them bare, strip himself in front of all these dim-witted lordlings to pass their judgement. So, he doesn’t tell them why, though he can see that Brienne knows. Knows that there is more to his story. That he isn’t telling them everything. He hopes that one day when someone finally tells her, she will understand.     
  
As they lead him away so they can consult about his sentence, he catches her eyes once more, holding her gaze for a few moments. _I’m sorry for everything. I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry you have to go through this. I hope that one day you’ll understand._ He implores her to understand as he tries to say with his eyes, what his lips have never uttered. Whether he reaches her, he doesn’t know.  
  
Later, when they tell him the sentence, and he realises his head won’t be rolling, but that he has been granted another chance – his third – he thinks sarcastically, he doesn’t know what to feel. He should be elated, relief washing over him sweet as honey, but it doesn’t come. Instead, a heavy weight settles in his chest as his eyes find Brienne’s once more. If he is to live, he will use it to make things right, try to explain as best as he can and hope that someday she might understand. He doesn’t let himself dare to hope for forgiveness. He is beyond that for sure.  
  
The days that follow his trial are dull and wrought with nothingness. He sits in a tent and broods, like he has for so many days before, waiting for Brienne to finally come to see him. But she doesn’t. He had been certain when they had led him away that she would come. Had even felt a small smile tug at the corner of his lips as her gaze met with his. But she hadn’t come. So, he sits in his tent and thinks with nothing else to do as the trials continue. He isn’t shackled anymore, but he isn’t allowed much else either. Exempt from sitting the trials, there is no one there who would talk to him, no one to give him something to do.  
  
He feels restless, caged and his thoughts are getting the better of him on most days as they keep circling one topic in particular. Love. What he had done in its name, what it means. What it is. Why loving Brienne feels so vastly different to loving Cersei.  
  
He could see now that he had been utterly consumed by love. Had gone so far as to sometimes forget himself in the service of that love. Love for his family and love for Cersei. He had wanted to be everything for her, had pledged himself to her over and over again, proved himself to her to gain her favour, her love. But it had always been him uttering the words of love to her. It had been him coaxing her to open up to him, to talk to him, to see him.  
  
Cersei had been a tempest. All-consuming and passionate, taking until there was nothing left to give.  
Is love supposed to be like that? Is it supposed to strip you to the bone, to consume you until there is nothing else left in the world but that person? Because Brienne was – is – different.  
  
It had been Brienne reaching out, coaxing him out of his shell, reprimanding him, when he had still not known what to make of the tall homely wench that had been his captor. And even after that, she had still reached out to him, though it had grown more into a give and take. A push and pull. Their own little dance that had gotten them to a bed in the end. His lips on hers in a rush of _finally_ and _at last._ It had been her reaching out when he had left, reaching out and reaching out and reaching out. Even after that, in King’s Landing. She had only stopped when she had woken, the grip of death around her throat still fresh, and his betrayal still lingering under her skin.  
  
Is love supposed to be like that? Slow and simmering, built out of trust and respect? Hard-earned?  
   
He had always been sure with Cersei, but with Brienne, he had felt new and different. Like he had never danced this dance before, even though he had fathered children. After he had realised how much she meant to him, he had felt awkward and wholly ineloquent. The clever words and witty remarks that had easily sat on his lips before had withered and died as he looked upon her. More often than not, he had fumbled to get out words at all. It had been ridiculous. He had felt ridiculous. So much so that Tyrion had quickly picked up on it, ridiculing him even further with his remarks and barely hidden smirks.  
  
Is love supposed to be like that? Reducing you to a green boy, so your brother could laugh at you in amusement?  
  
Jaime thinks he doesn’t know and probably never will.  What he does know is that what he feels for Brienne is strong and ever-present. Consuming in its own way, without taking too much, without demanding. And after leaving her in Winterfell, he knows, that he doesn’t want to leave her again. Doesn’t want her to leave or send him off so he would never see her again. Just thinking about the possibility of living a life devoid of her made him feel ill, that heavy weight settling in his chest again as his throat closes up. He would call that love because it is pure and real and honest. Because they had built it out of trust and respect. Out of friendship and hardship, they had endured together that had flowered into something more. Something deeper. More meaningful. Emotional. If that wasn’t love, what was?  
  
Love. Such a peculiar thing. And yet it was impossible to live without it, wasn’t it?  
  
Jaime is pondering thoughts along these lines once more, the heavy weight a constant companion in his chest, as he sits on his cod, staring at the woollen wall of his tent. It’s the day of the Great Council. The last day of the trials which will ultimately decide the fate of the realm and had Jaime even more fidgety than usual. But the day comes and goes without any incident. He doesn’t hear anything about the result. Tyrion doesn’t come, and as the sun sets, Jaime thinks it’s another day wasted. But as the sun starts sinking below the horizon, she comes. She is radiant as she walks in, briefly doused in the light of the setting sun, creating a shimmering halo around her form, before the tent flap closes and blocks out the dying light.  
  
He scrambles to his feet as Brienne settles into one of the vacant chairs sitting at the table. But the moment she directs her attention towards him, and her blue eyes meet his, he knows something is off. There is tension rippling all through her body, as if she is a bow strung too tightly, ready to snap loose. Her hand rests on Oathkeeper’s pommel, not gripping, not holding, just resting there as if she is entirely at ease, but Jaime knows she isn’t, even as she tries for looking impassive. He wonders, what has her this strung up. Maybe it’s the new order for the realm, maybe it’s something more personal. He doesn’t know, but as the silence hanging between them stretches on, he finds that he can’t bear it any longer, so he starts with the most mundane thing that comes to his head. Something safe, something simple.

“How are you?” he asks, nonchalant, going for earnestness as he looks over at her and she meets his eyes for a few fleeting seconds before averting her gaze once more.

“I’m fine,” she says briskly to the top of the table, sneaking a glance up at him for a moment before she returns her gaze back to her hands.  
Even though the tension in her body is high and her walls are up, there are these tiny little flickers of something simmering under the surface. Something important.  Something she doesn’t want to tell him. The sting of realisation that he has lost all her confidence comes as more of a surprise than he had thought.

Silence falls between them once more as she keeps looking at anything but him. Jaime can feel the distance between them, stark and naked and unsurpassable. So, the silence rings on. Settles heavy on his shoulders until he can’t bear it anymore. Can’t bare her not looking at him. Can’t take her not talking to him.

“Brienne.” Her name falls softly from his lips, every letter like a caress, but she doesn’t look up. Keeps her eyes fixed on the top of the table where she has folded her hands. Civil and gracious. Her shoulders are still drawn up, wrung with tension, and he can see her closing her eyes as he says her name.

“Brienne, look at me.” He tries again, almost pleading this time because he needs to see her. Needs to have her blue eyes on him because they say so much more than she ever would allow herself to speak.

Brienne lets out a heavy breath as if steeling herself for what he might do next, before she shifts in her chair and finally looks at him standing there, in the middle of his tent. In the dying light, she seems wary, the fading sun casting long shadows over her face and the blue of her eyes seems tired like she hasn’t slept well last night or any of the previous ones. The tension thrumming under her skin is even more evident, now that she is facing him. In the tight set of her jaw and the strain of the muscles of her neck. Still, she tries to hide behind her façade of cold indifference in the way she speaks, but Jaime isn’t that easily fooled anymore.

“What’s wrong?” Jaime inquires once more, still speaking in a soft voice, as her eyes latch on to him, growing harder.

“It’s nothing,” she says, her voice stern, brooking no argument and as they fall into the space between them, each feels like another slap. But Jaime keeps pushing. He has her here now, and he can’t have this. Can’t have this distance. This space between them where before there had been trust. “It can’t be nothing if it has you this tense.”

“It’s nothing, just leave it be,” she tells him again, her voice louder now before they lapse back into a silence heavier than before and Jaime doesn’t know what to do anymore. They’ve never been good at this. At talking. But they’ve never been this bad either. It’s like they aren’t talking at all, even though there are words hanging between them. Most of them unspoken.  
  
Knowing that Brienne is hurting, that there is something that has her tense and worked up and she won’t confide in him, won’t tell him, only hammers home how badly he has fucked all of this up. That their hard-earned trust and respect for each other has crumbled to ashes in his hands the moment he had left her.  
  
It makes him falter. Think. Re-evaluate. Because there are only two options. Push on or cease-fire. There is nothing else. No middle ground. But what use would it be to stop? It would only make the chasm between them more significant. Filled with more silence and unspoken words. Creating more distance. Jaime doesn’t want that. Doesn’t want that one bit. He wants to reach out. To pull her close and keep her there, encircled within his arms if she lets him. Without distance. Without words unspoken. So, he doesn’t stop but carries on, uttering the words that he had told her often and frequently in his mind and with his eyes but had never dared to speak.

“Brienne, I’m sorry.” Jaime’s voice is small when the words come, and he keeps looking at his hand instead of her, afraid of what he might find there. But when nothing comes and she doesn’t bolt, he chances a hesitant glance up at her and sees a glimmer of shocked surprise in her eyes as she looks at him. So, he keeps going. “I’m sorry I hurt you like I did. It was unforgivable and seeing you like this reminds me all too harshly of that night I left you.” He swallows thickly then, but pushes on regardless, needing to get this off his chest. “I haven’t been able to get the image of you standing there in that lonely courtyard, crying, out of my mind.”

More silence follows as she looks at him, her blue eyes swirling with shock and a host of other emotions Jaime isn’t able to untangle as they flit over her features before they disappear again.

“Brienne,” he calls her once more, his fingers itching to feel her skin, but he refrains from closing the distance between them. It would be too soon, too sudden. But as if her name has rattled Brienne from her thoughts, her gaze hardens once more, sadness now shimmering there as she finally speaks again. “I asked you to stay, I begged you to stay, and still you left. Like that. Like I wouldn’t have understood if you would have told me.” She takes a deep breath before pushing on. “You betrayed my trust. I trusted you implicitly and still you thought it better to steal away, to leave me in the dark and not talk to me. Was that what I deserved?”

Jaime hangs his head in shame, waiting for her to go on, to list all the rest of his dishonourable deeds, but nothing else comes, just another heavy silence that seems to choke them, carrying on for long almost eternal moments. “Yes, I did, and I’m sorry I left you that way, it was undeserved.”

“Undeserved?” Brienne cries out indignantly, her gaze aflame with fire now. “It was vile, cruel even, you, leaving me like that. Like it was nothing. Like _I_ was nothing. Like I didn’t deserve a choice. I _trusted_ you.” Agony sparkles in the flame behind her eyes, and Jaime knows how saying those words has hurt her just as much as hearing them has hurt him.  
  
“Was any of it even real?” That hurts even worse, her doubting their entire relationship. Their shaky beginning and begrudging respect. The hard-earned trust and the flowering of something sweeter underneath. How could she doubt him like that? How could she not see what Tyrion had been amused about and Cersei had mocked him for?

“Of course, it was. Brienne – You know – I would never – I –,” he tries to reassure her, but every answer dies on his tongue as he looks at her, hurt and angry, tension thrumming through her body. Her sapphire eyes are aflame with a cold fire as they watch him, and she snaps a wicked “What?” back at him. “Because sometimes I wonder. I wonder if it was real. I wonder if I know who you are. I thought I did know. I really thought so, but then you went and put everything I thought to be true to the test. So, do I know who you are? Do I truly know when you don’t seem to know yourself?” Silence follows, stretches out and carries on. Jaime doesn’t know what to do. What to say. She is right, isn’t she? Does he know who he is? Who he truly is? He knows who he wants to be, _what_ he wants to be, but after everything that has happened, can he claim that he knows who he is? That she knows? He isn’t sure, and still, there is indignation vibrating through him. Hearing her say those words, feeling her coldness, has him on edge. Irritated yet uncertain, frazzled. There are so many emotions at war inside him that all he can say is her name “Brienne”. It has become almost like prayer as often as he has said it by now, hoping, pleading, beseeching. But now there is frustration there as well. At her not looking at him, not seeing him. Just pushing, pushing, pushing him away.

He takes another breath as blue meets green. Still, he has to make this right. Has to make her see somehow because this has to end. Now. Today. Here. “I know I cannot undo what I have done but let me prove to you that what we had was real. Let me show you that I’m sorry for what I did. Believe me, Brienne, leaving you like that was one of the hardest things I have ever done.”

Brienne doesn’t seem convinced by the earnestness in his voice. Her eyes are still stern, and he isn’t surprised when she asks him for what he had steeled himself for days now. “Tell me then. Tell me why you left. Tell me how it came about that you killed your own sister when you set out from Winterfell to save her and your unborn child.”

And so, Jaime tells her about his struggle on the road from Winterfell to King’s Landing. About the constant war that had been raging on inside him, tugging at him from opposing sides and the feeling of being pulled apart. He tells her about finding Cersei and seeing her standing there in that damn courtyard and feeling like he had never left. He tells her about the baby Cersei had lost, about Cersei’s insistence on staying in the Red Keep while Daenerys rained fire down on the city, wanting to die a queen rather than slink away like a dog with its tail between its legs. He tells Brienne about his shock at seeing her there. About his inability to act when he realised that what he had wanted to prevent so dearly had come to pass anyhow, as the Mountain had engaged Brienne in combat with Cersei looking on in amusement, taunting him.  
  
He falters for a second, his voice having gone fainter as he remembers what Cersei had said and how he had grown still, rooted to the ground, not able to move as he watched on, fearing for Brienne’s life as Cersei called Brienne a whore, a beast. It still makes the weight settle in his chest, and his throat closes up. It still makes a cold shower run down his spine.  
  
He takes a deep breath, shaking himself, before chancing a glance at Brienne. Her eyes are glimmering with emotions, her hand at her mouth as she worries her lips and the tension coursing through her body seems to have multiplied. But Jaime pushes on, needs to tell it all, needs it out and in the open.  
  
So, he tells Brienne about his acting on impulse as Cersei had uttered the fateful words `kill them all’ just as Aerys had done when he was seventeen.  He tells her about the icy feeling spreading through him as he had seen her lying in Podrick’s arms, her hair soaked in the red of her own blood, thinking she had died. That he had failed. And he tells her about his hand closing around Cersei’s neck, squeezing the life out of his sister.  
  
“I killed her because –“ Jaime wants to tell Brienne. Wants to tell her he had killed Cersei because of what she had done. But he can’t because the words won’t come. They stick in his throat. Huge and ungainly just like they had back at Winterfell in the training yard when he had wanted to tell her why he had come to Winterfell. For you, had been the answer then, but this time it's more complicated than that. Something that isn’t easily explained by just one word.  
  
Back then, she hadn’t understood, but now she sees. He can see it in her eyes as the tears she had been holding back spill. Running down her cheeks. The hand that had been by her mouth moments before is now clutched into a fist, as if she is still trying to hold on, trying to hold back, while her other hand clutches her stomach as sobs keep racking her body.  
  
Jaime moves towards her then, unable to bear her pain any longer and when she realises he is walking towards her, she reaches out for him with the hand that had formerly lain over her belly. She grips him around the hips, pulling him close and buries her face in his stomach as she cries, his name on her lips. He can feel her hot breath seep through the cotton of his tunic, can feel her warm tears, creating wet patches on the fabric as her body trembles and shakes.  
  
His hand finds its way into her soft blond strands as she continues to cry, mumbling something into his tunic from time to time that he doesn’t understand. She trembles and shakes relentlessly for minutes, crying her heart out as Jaime holds her, his gold hand resting on her back, as his real hand runs through her hair, giving her comfort as she tries to compose herself.

When her sobs have eased off, he crouches down in front of her, his hand cradling her face as his eyes search out hers. They are puffy and red-rimmed from crying and Jaime’s heart aches, remembering the only other time he had ever seen her like this. 

“What were you saying?” he asks her softly, as she hick-ups once, trying to reign herself in as her eyes continue to swim with tears.

“I’m going home, Jaime. I’m going back to Tarth.” Brienne croaks, her voice still thick with having cried as another tear runs down her cheek that Jaime wipes away with his thumb, not comprehending what that had to do with anything.

“What–? Why–?” The words fall from his lips as he tries to make sense of what is happening. She looks down at her hands, lying in her lap, fidgeting relentlessly as she avoids his gaze. It is like she is steeling herself for battle as she takes a long breath, biting her lower lip as she lifts her brilliantly blue eyes to his and blue meets green once more.  
  
Another tear steals down Brienne’s cheek, unbidden, and she wipes it away quickly, as she worries her lip, before the words finally come tumbling out into the open.

“I’m pregnant, Jaime."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this chapter took so long. But the first draft wasn't good, at all, and then I went to London and wasn't able to work on it. Still, I'm sorry, but that after this the last two chapters will come in a more timely manner. And yes, this is eight chapters long now, added yet another chapter, but those two are already plotted out, so after chapter eight it will really be over. 
> 
> Thank you again to all of you that subscribed, left a kudo or a comment or bookmarked this story. 
> 
> And as always another big thank you to my friend, supper-party, for being my cheerleader and proof-reader, who keeps Jaime and Brienne in line when I get wild with them.

They leave for Tarth a fortnight after the Great Council. The sea had been getting rougher every day, it had seemed, and Brienne wasn’t looking forward to the journey home. The nausea and tiredness that still plagued her wouldn’t make the voyage any more pleasant, she was sure, but at least now she knows what had caused these changes in her body.  
  
Her hand wanders to her belly as it had often done ever since she had gotten the news. A new habit. A reminder of the life growing inside her.  
  
Brienne stands at the rail of the ship, clad in a thick woollen cloak trimmed with fur as she watches the men load the last few crates onto the ship before they would depart. The fabric of the large sail rustles behind her as her gaze sweeps over the ruins of King’s Landing, blackened, jagged stone rising into the sky.  It eerily reminds her of Harrenhal, all melted stone, and a shiver runs down Brienne’s spine that even her cloak can’t keep away.  
  
Her memories of that day are still hazy, doused in fog and uncertainty, but she knows what had happened now and the thought lets her throat close up. She would be glad to be away from here, from this retched city, with its lies and former glories now turned to ashes.  
  
The men were yelling at each other as they scurry across the deck, raising the gangway and preparing to sail out of what remains of the once splendid harbour of King’s Landing. She sees Sansa standing at the dock with Arya and Jon, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. She and her siblings would start their journeys soon, back towards the North. Sansa would claim her Kingdom, becoming Queen in the North, while Jon would head for the Freelands. Maybe one day she would see them again.  
  
Slowly the ship starts moving with the rhythmic sweep and fall of the oars beneath her feet, and she waves at the assembled Starks, feeling a twinge of sadness and regret for the lost opportunities, for the life she might have had, the adventures she could have lived. In another life, under different circumstances. Now there were more important things to think of and a promise she meant to keep, a promise she had made to her father when she had left Tarth. To come home once the war was over. And there was the baby to think of as well. Though if she was frank with herself, she had longed for home for a time now. For the blue waters and high cliffs, the green meadows and glittering waterfalls. She wanted to go home and with that knowledge in her heart and the news of her pregnancy in her mind she had sought out Sansa after the Great Council.  
  
The lady of Winterfell now turned Queen in the North had been in her tent after the day's rigorous debates and discussions. Brienne had debated whether it would be appropriate to disturb her after the day’s events but had found that the matter was pressing enough to warrant the late visit.  
  
Sansa had stood by the brazier in the corner, warming her hands as Brienne had entered her tent, greeting her with a courteous “Your grace”. The younger woman had turned around upon hearing Brienne’s voice and welcoming her in turn. “Brienne. What brings you here so late?”  
  
She had given Brienne a small smile, but Brienne saw the tiredness around her eyes. The day had been long and strenuous on them all, so she wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible.  
  
“News and a plea, your grace.” Sansa had nodded in acknowledgement and gestured for Brienne to continue.  
  
“Just this morning I found out I am with child.” The words had spilt from her lips quickly and hastily, afraid of the reception they would get from the Queen in the North and though Brienne tried to gauge Sansa’s reaction, her features remained neutral, giving nothing away. “And though I haven’t known long, I have pondered the idea of going home, back to Tarth, for a while now. I had promised my father upon my departure that I would return, once the war was over, and take up my duties. Now with the child, it seems even more important. Therefore, I ask to be released from my vow as your sworn sword so I may travel home to take up the duties awaiting me there.” And there it had been again, that small half-smile, strung though it was with weariness, which had eased a bit of the tension that had been strumming under Brienne’s skin, and let her hands at her sides unclench.  
  
“Of course you may go home, Brienne,” Sansa had said her voice soft as she had reached out for Brienne, laying one of her small graceful hands on Brienne’s wide forearm.  
  
“We all have our roles to play in this new world, and though I wouldn’t have expected yours to be this, I am happy for you.” Brienne had cringed upon hearing Sansa’s words, thinking about her strained relationship with Jaime and the fact that he hadn’t even known she was pregnant then.  
  
“You are happy, aren’t you?” Sansa had asked, hesitantly, probably picking up on the inner turmoil going on inside her.  
  
“I will be, your grace,” Brienne had assured her, even though she hadn’t been sure then. She still isn’t, though she hopes that she will be.  
  
Sansa had studied Brienne for a moment, taking her in, scrutinising her, and Brienne had felt a bit uncomfortable under Sansa’s watchful eyes, but the younger woman had let whatever had been on her tongue slip away, deciding not to voice her concern if she had any. Brienne had been grateful for the reprieve from having to explain the situation further.  
  
“Good. And remember, you’ll always have a place at my table in Winterfell so never hesitate to come back to visit or ask for help if I can provide it.” Sansa’s smile returned once more, and even Brienne had managed a smile in return, though hers had been even more mute. Shortly after she had taken her leave of Sansa’s tent and had headed through the camp to seek out Jaime.  
  
The wind had picked up further, and a shiver runs down Brienne’s spine as she tucks her cloak closer. She should head to her cabin, she knows, but she feels good right now, with the wind whipping her hair about and the salty breeze around her nose. Soon the nausea would return and then she wouldn’t be able to enjoy the journey anymore as the waves got higher and her pregnant body would confine her below deck with a bucket between her knees.   
  
Cloth rustles, and soon she feels another layer of fabric on her shoulders, shrouding her against the cutting wind. Brienne looks over and isn’t surprised to find Jaime standing beside her, his good hand gripping the rail beside hers.  
  
“Lovely weather for a journey by ship, isn’t it?” Jaime asks a glint in his green eyes as he looks over at her and Brienne wants to sigh and roll her eyes at his antics. Still, she can hear the lingering concern in his voice and the gesture. _You should be heading below deck._ He wouldn’t dare to say it. Not like that. But the meaning is still there unspoken, yet clear.  
  
After their conversation that had ended in her breaking down in tears and telling him of her pregnancy, he had grown attentive. Brienne would even go so far as to call it fussy. Jaime was always there, looking out for her and after her as Pod looked on in silence either annoyed or bemused. But Brienne had let Jaime be for the most part. She had allowed him to fetch her food and spar with her and other little things that Jaime had never bothered with before until she had grown so annoyed with him that she had put an end to it. After that, Pod had thankfully resumed his duties, but Jaime still came around for sparring sessions and to talk to her whenever she wished. Try as they might though, some of the distance between them remained, hanging between them as they talked and as they fought in the training yard as if they carried it around like a big boulder wedged in-between them. Implacable. Indestructible.  
  
“If this is already too much for you, you won’t like Tarth much. The waves get even higher there and journeying by ship can become a right adventure.” A breathy laugh escapes Jaime beside her as he looks out over the grey water crowned in white foam as the waves battle against the sides of the ship.  
  
“I’ll be just fine, my lady. Not to worry.” He smirks at her as his gaze takes her in, with her ruffled hair and her cheeks and nose red from the insistent stinging wind. There is so much to see in those emerald eyes of his, so many emotions at play as he looks at her, and a warmth suddenly takes her that had her shiver for an entirely different reason. Still, she pulls the two cloaks on her shoulders closer to her body and averts her gaze. Maybe she really should head below deck before the nausea took her or she caught a cold up here.  
  
“I’ll be taking my leave. Thank you for the cloak.” Jaime inclines his head as she leaves, bidding her goodbye, but Brienne can feel his eyes on her until she is down the narrow set of stairs that would lead her to her cabin.  
  
The days that follow feel like the seven hells for Brienne. As predicted, her body keeps her prisoner for most of the journey, nausea and insomnia her ever-present companions.  
  
When she isn’t retching up the little nibbles of food and drink Podrick and Jaime have persuaded her to eat and drink, she is fretting over their impending arrival on Tarth, about her father’s reception and subsequent judgment of her. In the quiet moments of the night, just between waking and sleeping, she wishes for her father to embrace her, hold her close to his broad chest while she tells him everything, just like she had when she was just a little girl. However, she knows that the likelihood of that happening is slim. She doesn’t know who her father has become in the years they have spent apart, just as much as he doesn’t know the woman she has grown to be. So, she steels herself for the worst. Rejection. Disappointment. Emotions she doesn’t want to associate with home. With her father, as he was one of the few people who have ever accepted her for who she truly was.  
  
By the evening before their arrival on Tarth, Brienne has worked herself into a frenzy with her thoughts, continually worrying with little food or sleep to sustain her. She has noticed both Pod and Jaime looking at her strangely for days now, and she has snapped at them both several times for it as the tension kept strumming under her skin, dread curling in her stomach, cold and cruel and sickening. But it’s that very evening that Jaime comes to her, sitting down next to her on her cot. He doesn’t stay quiet as he has for the past couple of evenings, just sharing the same space.  
  
Instead, he angles his body towards her and asks in a low voice: “Hey, are you alright?”  
  
She wants to snort at the ridiculousness of the question but refrains. Of course, she’s not. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have asked, and they both know it. But this seems to be his new strategy. Asking benign questions, tentative and unobtrusive, and hoping she would just come out with whatever was the actual crux of the problem. Instead of the snort, she sighs and doesn’t deign the question with an answer.  
  
“Brienne, you can talk to me, you know that, right?” His voice is still soft, gentle as if he hasn’t heard her longsuffering sigh and the snort, she was hiding beneath it. And after the words have fallen from his lips, he just waits. Waits for her to say something, to acknowledge his presence and his insistence to talk in some other form than a sigh.  
  
“Yes, Jaime. I know.” Her voice is faint, nothing like it usually is, tired and filled with worry and she keeps looking at her hands in her lap, avoiding his eyes as her thoughts keep themselves firmly rooted on their impending future tomorrow. She isn’t in the mood to have this conversation, she really isn’t, but Jaime just keeps on pushing.  
  
“Then talk to me. You’ve been drawn back ever since we started this journey and it’s not only due to your nausea or the tiredness. I can tell.” Brienne doesn’t want to talk about this. About her fears and worries and feelings. But she is tired, and she still feels a bit sick and the tension under her skin, pulling taut, is slowly wearing her thin, and there is a baby growing inside of her. Another human being. A little version of Jaime. And she doesn’t know whether she’ll be a good mother. Whether her father will accept her back with open arms. Whether he will marry her off again just so the baby will not be baseborn. Whether he will be disappointed in her for going to bed with a man without being wedded to him. Whether her father is still the open-minded man she remembers or if they have both changed so much that they won’t recognise each other anymore.  
  
But she can’t tell Jaime all of that. Still a little of it spills out of her like a dam has broken with his prodding, that she is desperately trying to fix before the worst comes spilling out. “It’s my father. I don’t know how he’ll react to all of this. My knighthood, my pregnancy, the fact that I’m not married.”  
  
As the words come tumbling out, the tension under her skin grows even worse as the dread inside her stomach coils tighter. Speaking the words that had been running around her head for days now, has made them all the more real, has put voice to the fears and worries, she so desperately wants to forget, to shed like a second skin. But now they are out, given voice to, hovering between her and Jaime, there for him to judge.  
  
But for a beat there is only silence as she continues to look at her hands, waiting for Jaime to say something. Instead of words, his hand comes sneaking into her vision to settle down onto her right hand. Gently, he takes her hand in his, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand in a soothing motion before he begins to speak.  
  
“You know, with you for a daughter I think he might be used to expecting the unexpected.” She can hear the faint smile in his voice as he tries to lighten the mood, to reassure her and she can feel a small smile tug at the corner of her own lips as well as she looks down at their clasped hands. Maybe he is right. Perhaps she is worrying too much about all of this.  
  
“I’m not going to tell you everything will be alright because we both lived long enough in this world to know that it probably won’t be. But what I can promise you is that I will be by your side, every step of the way. I hope you know that.” And now there is a different feeling, mingled with the tension and dread. A warmth, like the first rays of the sun, slowly seeping into your skin. Because while she had hoped and told herself that Jaime was in this with her, was going to be by her side through this whole thing, him actually voicing it, telling her that he will be there, no matter what awaits them upon their arrival on Tarth, means a lot to her. Like a first tentative step to the way, things used to be.  
“I know, Jaime. I know.” And in her heart she has known, from the moment the words of her pregnancy had left her mouth she had known, but when she looks up, to meet his eyes for the first time since he has entered the room, and blue meets green, she can’t help the small smile that steals onto her face.  Still, for all Jaime tries, the tension and dread are still there roiling and coiling under her skin. She knows he is trying his best, but while she has suffered and taken the sneers and the japs from people everywhere she went, even from Jaime, her father had always accepted her the way she was. And yes, maybe Jaime is right, maybe he has come to learn to expect the unexpected with her, but the possibility of going home only to see how deeply she disappointed him, how he couldn’t accept the person she had become, was still there. Somehow, she feared Jaime wouldn’t understand that. Couldn’t really, because his father had always looked down on him, put pressure on him to become what he was meant to be, what his father wanted him to be, instead of letting him be the person he is.  
  
He stays with her through the long hours of the night, trying to keep her thoughts occupied with things other than her worry of the coming day and comforted by their talk and his presence she does nod off at some point.  
  
When she wakes the next morning, Jaime is gone, and her nerves start fraying again. She dresses quickly and efficiently, donning her blue armour and Oathkeeper rather than more casual clothes. She feels ready, clothed for battle rather than meeting her father, but then again, maybe their reunion will be a battle of sorts. Of pushing and pulling, attack and defence, feeling out where they are at after all these years spent apart.   
  
Podrick brings her breakfast, though just the look of it has her feeling nauseous and she orders him to take it away before he can even start protesting that she has to eat something.  
  
When she emerges from her cabin and onto the deck, the steep cliffs of her home greet her. The harbour is just up ahead, and the crew is already preparing for their landing on Tarth. They will be there within the hour, she knows, and her stomach turns.  
  
She clutches at the rail, watching the cliffs grow bigger as her other hand finds its way back to her belly where by now a little bump has grown. It isn’t yet noticeable to someone who doesn’t know she is with child, easily hidden under loose tunics and her armour, but she knows it’s there now. Another physical proof of another life growing inside her.  
  
Not long after Jaime and Podrick join her on deck, standing to either side of her as they all watched the island grow larger in front of their eyes. Pod is awestruck, even though the beauty of Tarth is muted, draped in its winter gown, and even Jaime looks at the island in fondness, the look in his eyes as if he remembers something far off and distant.  
  
Soon Brienne is able to make out the familiar structures of the harbour, taverns and inns, stables and big sprawling warehouses all lining the docks. But when she spots the cluster of people, standing underneath the whipping banners of Tarth, the ever-present dread coils more tightly in her stomach. He is there. He father is there to greet her, there is no doubt.  
  
The next few minutes are a haze of activity as the crew readies the ship for docking at the port and it feels like no time at all had passed until the gangway is down and it is time for her to disembark. To walk down the long wooden plank and greet her fate, whatever may come. So, she squares her shoulders, takes one last look over her shoulder to glance at Jaime standing behind her at her right side, before she sets one foot in front of the other and walks down the gangway.  
  
She keeps her head held high as she walks towards the gathered lords, seeing familiar faces, people that had served her father ever since she was just a girl, and those she doesn’t recognise. First, she spots Ser Goodwin, standing tall and proud within the group and giving her a small smile. Only as her eyes travel farther does she spot her father, standing in between the gathered lords, right under one of the whipping banners of her home. She had hoped to say that he hadn’t changed at all in the time she had been gone, but that would be a lie. When she had left, her father had been greying, now his hair is entirely greyish-white, pushed out of his face, just like she always wears it, and longer than it used to be. His face is lined, but the equally white beard does its best to hide her father’s age. He looks old. Far older than she remembers and suddenly the years they had spent apart seem all the more for it. He had grown old while she had grown up. And the expression of calm, unmoving indifference as she walks up to him, reminds her all too well of the fact that she doesn’t know the man her father has become.  
  
“Daughter,” he greets her courteously when she finally reaches him and his entourage. The lords of Tarth eye her as they always have, with her armour and sword, but she tries to ignore the stares.  
  
“Father.” The greeting is just as courteous as his has been as she inclines her head. He acknowledges the gesture with a nod of his own before he shifts his attention to her right where she knows Jaime is standing by her side, just a step or two behind her.  
  
“I see you’ve brought the Kingslayer to our home, though I have to say I’m not surprised.” While her father seems unshaken by Jaime’s presence, Brienne is lost for words for a moment. She had told her father she’d be coming home in the raven she had sent, but she had never mentioned Jaime.  
  
She can feel Jaime tense next to her, almost imperceptibly, and for the lords and her father even more so, but it’s there when the moniker falls from her father’s lips. Soft whispering erupts from the men gathered behind her father, but he silences them quickly.  
  
“Lord Selwyn, it’s an honour,” Jaime greets him, bowing, but Brienne can hear the tightness in his voice. Can see the tension strumming under his skin when she glances at Jaime over her shoulder for a second. His left hand is clenched into a fist by his side, the only noticeable exhibit of the thoughts and emotions running wild inside his head. However, her father doesn’t seem to notice or elects not to, as he only nods at Jaime’s greeting in acknowledgement, before his attention shifts again. This time to Brienne’s other side.  
  
“And who is this other companion of yours Brienne?” The Evenstar’s blue eyes have now focused on Podrick who she can tell is starting to fidget under her father’s gaze. He has never been good with being the centre of attention, much less so when the person is of high birth. So, she jumps in to introduce the young man to her father, before Pod comes stumbling out with words that will only embarrass him further.  
  
“My squire, Podrick Payne, father. We have travelled through Westeros together for many years, and he is one of my most trusted companions.” Another nod, but nothing more. Then he beckons her forward, towards him, but with each step she takes, she can feel the tension under her skin pulling taut as the dread in her stomach coils into a tight knot. But no judgment comes forth.  
  
“Come, your journey must have been strenuous, and there is a lot we need to talk about.” Her father’s voice isn’t cold or indifferent, but it also lacks the warmth she had come to associate with it. It’s clean, neutral. The voice of a lord speaking to his people rather than the voice of a father speaking to his daughter. Still, Brienne nods and falls into step with him, walking away from the docks and in the direction of Evenfall Hall, perched high on a cliff in the far distance.  
  
Their ride to Evenfall Hall was quiet, and so Brienne took in the familiar scenery, sprawling forests, now naked and leafless for the winter chill in the air, open fields and stretches of green grass. Out over the cliffs, the sea is rough, capped in white foam crowns as the waves break and crash against the rocks.  
  
Her girlhood home still stands proud and tall upon those very cliffs, plunging steep into the sea beneath, walls battered and overgrown green with moss from the salty wind blowing in. The halls within are still endless and maze-like, taking unexpected twists and turns and the Hall still feels homely and warm, with its grand fireplaces and wooden furnishing. Even her room is as she had left it all those years ago. The books she had left behind are still strewn over her table and desk, and the wooden sword she had had as a girl still stands in the corner of the room, as if she would walk by any minute to pick it up once more. Even the chest at the foot of her bed still holds her clothes from years ago, smelling fresh as if they had been washed just before her arrival.  
  
Standing in her room, it was as if she had never left, though for all it was worth, while her home hadn’t changed, she had. Her hand finds its way back to her belly, caressing over the hard steel plate where she knows the little bump can be found and lets her eyes wander over the room. It feels strange being back here, in this room, where so many memories threatened to resurface. Good ones and bad ones alike.  
  
Soon after her arrival, a servant comes, bearing warm water and a plate of food. Brienne forgoes the food as her stomach is still coiled tightly and only the sight of food makes her feel sick again, but she washes up, shedding her armour and the filthy clothes she has been wearing for way too long now and dresses herself in the clothes from the chest.  
Once that’s done, and she is dressed, she eyes the food on the table suspiciously once more, before dropping down on the cushioned window seat, looking out over the sea and the crashing waves as the sun slowly sets on the horizon. It’s the mating dance of sky and sun, of blue and red, as the golden orb seems to sink into the sea, casting a red and orange glow over the deep blue sky and the grey water beneath as the moon sits witness to her husband’s demise. And as the sun is finally swallowed up by the sea, his last rays stretching up into the horizon, a knock sounds at her door and Brienne almost jumps, so lost had she been in her thoughts and the sight before her.  
  
She gets up slowly, thinking that it had to be either Jaime or Podrick come to check on her since they hadn’t been in attendance since their arrival at Evenfall Hall, but when she opens the door, she finds her father standing on the other side and the tension that had loosened somewhat as she had watched the sunset, pulls taut under her skin once more.  
  
“May I come in?” he asks, his blue eyes intent on her, and Brienne can only nod, pulling the door wide to let him into the room. He brushes past her, heavy footsteps on the wooden floorboards, and she is starkly reminded of the fact that while she has grown used to towering over everyone around her, her father is one of the few people she knows that have a few inches in height on her.  
  
She closes the door after him, taking a moment to take a deep breath, to prepare herself for what is undoubtedly to come next.  
  
When she turns around to face him, her father has taken up the window seat she had just abandoned and pats the cushion next to himself, beckoning her towards him. Once she has taken up the space next to him, he shifts towards her, angling his body so that he may look at her when he speaks, but Brienne can’t bring herself to look up.  
  
“So, you’ve become a knight and brought the Kingslayer to our island. Is there anything else of import I need to know?” Brienne glances up at him, seeing his raised eyebrow and inquisitive look before she redirects her gaze back to her fidgeting hands. Here is her chance to tell him everything. On her own terms.  
  
She bites her bottom lip, worrying it before finally asking: “How much do you know?” She wants to know what he’s heard, which preconceived opinions he already has before she starts to relay the real version of events to him. Before baring her soul.  
  
“Bits and pieces. Whatever reached Tarth was usually news from traders or people travelling through the lands. But I want to hear it from you. What really happened. I don’t put much stock into the ramblings of drunk sailors or merchants.” She nods, mulling over where to start. How to start this story that has been her life. That has taken up years. That isn’t easily explained. That she never had to explain before because all the important people had been there, living through it all with her. Now she has to find the words to make her father understand.  
  
Brienne swallows thickly, feeling the ever-present dread in her stomach coil tight as she starts telling him of Renly and Lady Catelyn. Of her journey with Jaime and their capture. Of Jaime protecting her and saving her. Of her quest to find Arya and Sansa. About the Long Night and King’s Landing. Sometimes her voice cracks and wavers, emotions taking hold of her as she remembers the men she had killed and the terror and torture she had endured and witnessed over the years. By the end of her tale, she feels weak like she is about to shake from exhaustion, but her body holds up, for once not betraying her. However, words come tumbling out, that she hadn’t intended to say.  Not like this, but she had seen the look on her father’s face every time she had mentioned Jaime, and she just has to say something to defend him, to make her father believe that he is the man she sees rather than the man he shows to the world.  
  
 “I owe Jaime a lot. And yes, he may have slain a king and a queen, but he did both for good reasons, father. He is a good man, even though a lot of people never get to see it.” She glances up at her father once more and sees Selwyn smiling at her knowingly as if he is in on a secret that she isn’t privy to.  
  
“You love him, don’t you?” And it’s like lightning has struck her, electricity running through her body, followed by a cold shower of dread. Because he can’t know. He simply can’t understand what’s in her heart that easily. He can’t.  
  
She splutters indignantly for a moment, unable to form a proper sentence, as she is starkly reminded of Jaime’s sister asking something along the same lines. All those years ago in King’s Landing had been the first time she had had to consider the notion. Had to face the possibility that what Cersei had said might be the truth. Now, she has to concede, knowing what is in her heart. She can’t deny it, not when he had asked so plainly. So openly. Without judgement.  
  
“Yes, I do.”  
  
The words hover in the air, given room to breathe and Brienne realises that it’s the first time she has voiced these feelings out loud, acknowledged them. She had known for such a long time, had thought she would never be given a chance to express them, to let them occupy space within herself, that it is almost surreal to admit them. Here. Now. In front of her father.  
  
“Is there something else you need to tell me?” His voice is gentle now, but the way he looks at her tells Brienne that he knows that there is something she isn’t telling him. She bites her lips. She has to tell him now. But the words won’t come. Instead, she starts fidgeting with her hands again, worrying the hem of her tunic between her fingers.  
  
“A marriage? A baby?” he enquires, and there is that feeling again. Like lightning coursing under her skin, followed by a thorough douse in cold water. She is speechless for a second, stunned and unable to answer, but when words finally return to her, she opts for the safe option first.  
  
“I’m not married, no.” Her voice is shaky as she answers while looking down at her hands. She can’t look at him when they are talking about this. Can’t see the disappointment form in his eyes.  
  
“But – Uhm – I’m – I’m with child.”  She bites her lips again, pausing for breath after she has wangled the words out of her throat and into the open, but she knows she has to continue. Has to explain. “It’s Jaime’s. But we never got married. And that was before King’s Landing. And –,” she trails off, but it’s as if something has broken inside her and everything comes spilling out, everything she had been holding back. She hopes her father will understand. Will sit and listen to her like he had when she was little, and she needed his advice.  
  
“But – I can’t _just_ forgive him. Go back to the way things were. I can’t.” Her voice has grown even shakier, and she can feel her chin wobble as she thinks about Winterfell, about King’s Landing. And still, every time she is uncertain. Uncertain of what they will be, what they can be after everything that had happened because still the hurt is lodged like a dagger in her side, twinging whenever her thoughts stray to those days she had spent in blissful happiness, unaware of the pain and turmoil that lay ahead of her.  
  
“I understand what he did. I really truly understand, but that doesn’t make it okay. That doesn’t undo what he did or how I felt for months.” She is close to tears now, she can feel it, as all of her hurt and frustration is finally voiced and given room to breathe.  
  
“And still you sit here, pouring your heart out to me and admitting that you do love him.” He is so, so gentle when he says it, pulling her against his side. The sudden comfort this new proximity brings is unfathomable, and Brienne lets her weight rest against her father’s sturdy frame for a few moments, letting him take some of the burden.  
  
“I think in your heart you already forgave him otherwise he wouldn’t be here, but he has lost something that feels unforgivable to you. Your trust and he will have to earn that back. That’s why he is here. That’s why you let him be here because even though you were hurt, you know that he did so for good reasons and deserves to be given another chance. You want him to be here because you want him to succeed. You want to trust him again, and you want him in your life. In your child’s life.”  
  
Brienne is biting her bottom lip again, trying to hold back tears as she listens to her father’s words, finding the truth in so much of what he says. Still, she wonders why the disappointment she was so sure of seeing in her father’s eyes had never come. She has to voice these thoughts, has to give them room in this open, honest conversation they are having to dispel her doubts once and for all. If she doesn’t do it now, she fears she won’t get another chance. “I thought once I told you you’d be disappointed.”  
  
Her father shifts next to her, his hands coming up to cradle her cheeks in his broad palms to direct her gaze up to his. When her eyes finally meet his, so much like her own, only a few shades lighter, she can see the warmth there. Can see the smile that reaches into his eyes and puts light into them.  
  
“No, Brienne, not disappointed. Surprised by some of your choices, maybe, but not disappointed.” He pauses for a beat, thinking, before continuing. “Life doesn’t run smooth, much less in war. What you’ve seen, what you’ve witnessed, what you’ve lived through, has shaped and moulded you, made you choose and deny things that you would never have needed to if life had taken a different course. But all those choices let you here. Whole and mostly unhurt. How could I be disappointed in my daughter when she accomplished a feat like that.”  
  
Brienne can’t help herself then. She reaches out for her father, draws him close as her arms wind themselves around his back, and she lets her weight sack against him, allows her head rest on his shoulder as she feels the acceptance sink in.  
  
“I’m just grateful that your home, my little morning star,” her father whispers softly, his hand stroking over her back and Brienne can’t help but start to cry as the tension and dread finally seep out of her, and she is finally, _finally_ home.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And once more I come to you way too late and much later than I expected, but for all it's worth Chapter 8 is written and only just needs a bit of revising and editing. This is because of Chapter 7 and 8 originally beeing just one chapter but seeing as the first draft was over 11k and two scenes were missing, my lovely friend supper-party recommended splitting this bad boy into two chapters. One of those missing scenes though gave me a massive headache and is the reason for the delayed upload. Well, that and a few other things, but we are here now. 
> 
> As always, thank you to all of you who have stuck around with this story. I love reading your comments and I'm happy about every single one of them. Thank you as well to everyone leaving a kudo or a bookmark.
> 
> Big thank you to supper-party for being a steady influence and a cheerleader. I couldn't do this without you.

Jaime sighs and breathes in the salty morning air as he stands on his balcony overlooking the vast sea and the long stretches of hard, rocky cliffs. 

It’s the morning after their arrival on Tarth and Jaime still isn’t done marvelling at the beauty of the island. At the long stretches of green grass and clusters of forests, sprouting up here and there. At the softly rolling hills and the steep cliffs. At the sea, harsh and rough and more grey than blue now in winter. 

He had seen this very island on his way to Dorne, still clad in its summer livery then, but even now, in this more subdued version of the island Brienne has grown up on, can he see the beauty that he had seen then. 

He lets his weight sack against the rail of the balcony as he leans his hip against the cold stone and looks over the sea, watching as the sun slowly starts to rise, reaching out its rays and casting the world in a soft glow of orange, red and gold. 

But maybe, it’s not just the island. Maybe it's also the knowledge that they survived. That they are alive. That he isn’t going to be sentenced to death or exile or something equally unbearable. Maybe that’s the reason why suddenly everything seems like it's filled with so much more beauty than before. 

Jaime lets a soft, unbelieving laugh carry on the salty breeze, shaking his head. Where have his thoughts drifted to now. Getting all deep and contemplative. 

He pushes off the rail and heads back into his rooms, leaving behind a fiery sunrise. He straps Widow’s Wail to his hip and heads out, down to the hall, to find breakfast and maybe Brienne, but as he tries to find his way from the chambers to the hall he gets lost at least twice and has to retrace his steps. By the time he finally reaches his destination, a cluster of people already litter the wooden benches and the only familiar face he can spot is Podrick. Brienne is nowhere to be found. So, he sits down across from Brienne’s squire and greets him with a nod, before digging into his food. 

The silence between them prevails as each man eats his food, neither speaking a word nor acknowledging the other's presence more than strictly necessary. Though before Jaime gets up to leave and look for Brienne, he can’t help but ask the young man whether he had seen Brienne around. 

“No, ser.” Podrick answer is curt and delivered to his plate rather than to Jaime’s face. Jaime wants to scoff at the young man’s behaviour but clenches his teeth and stays amicable. It wouldn’t do him any good going around antagonising Brienne’s squire even more.

“Do you have any plans to train with Brienne later in the day?” he tries again, but he just gets another “No, ser,” for his pains which is this time delivered to Podrick’s cup.  

Jaime takes a deep breath, trying to hide his annoyance at the younger man’s behaviour but leaves it at that for the moment. He really has to talk to the boy and sort this shit out because it is getting ridiculous, but here and now, under the watchful eyes of Brienne’s people and her father seated at the high table is certainly not the right time and place to have this particular discussion. 

All morning Jaime wanders aimlessly, exploring the long, winding hallways and vast courtyards of Evenfall Hall, always in the hope to happen upon Brienne. But all morning he has no luck. Only when the sun is high in the sky, dipping in and out from behind grey clouds, does he find her. 

Jaime had just rounded the corner to head back to his rooms when he hears the tell-tale singing of steel meeting steel. He had been by the training yard twice already, both times finding the courtyard, decked in dirt and littered with training dummies and targets, deserted. Now though there seems to be a pair at training and Jaime isn’t going to pass up the opportunity to sneak up and have a look whether it wouldn’t be Brienne and Podrick. 

He strolls down the hallway in the opposite direction of his rooms, following the insistent clang of steel on steel. When he finally comes around the last corner, he spots Brienne and a man Jaime only recognises from the party that had met them at the docks. He had noticed the man smiling at Brienne in a way that spoke of their familiarity. Now, seeing them fight together, Jaime can see why. Though Brienne’s style of fighting seems to have evolved over the years, Jaime can spot the similarities in the way the two of them move and circle each other. Both of them being able to predict one another’s next move though Brienne clearly has the upper hand. 

He watches them come together over and over again, steel singing and springing apart, until Brienne disarms her opponent with a quick, practised move and his sword clatters to the ground, stirring up a small cloud of dust. 

Jaime steps into the courtyard then, making his presence known. “That was quite the show-off move.” 

Brienne swivels around, her blue eyes taking in his presence as a light blush starts creeping onto her cheeks. “Ser Jaime, what are you doing here?”

“I was looking for you, my lady. Seeing as you hadn’t shown up for breakfast, and even your loyal squire had no idea of your whereabouts, I found it prudent to go looking for you.” He gives her a cheeky grin, and Brienne blushes even more profoundly, her hand around Oathkeeper’s hilt flexing. 

“I had matters to attend to. I’m sorry you were worried, ser.” Jaime wants to laugh at the way they are speaking so formally these days, but again he refrains and just gives her a nod in answer. 

“May I introduce you to the master of arms here at Evenfall Hall. Ser Goodwin.” Brienne indicates the man she had been sparring with and Jaime greets him in turn.

“It’s an honour to meet you, ser. Am I correct in the guess that you were the person to train Ser Brienne?” Ser Goodwin looks a bit perplexed, but he bows his head in greeting.

“The honour is mine, ser. If you want to train, you are always welcome here.” He pauses for a moment, studying Jaime and then Brienne before he continues. “How did you know it was me that trained Lady Brienne?”

“I’ve sparred with Brienne many a time, and I have seen her fight just as often. Though her style has changed from what you’ve taught her, I could still spot the similarities between the both of you.” Jaime shrugs and grins at them, while Ser Goodwin nods in acknowledgement. 

“That’s all well and good, but I’d like to head inside and freshen up before dinner tonight. So, if you’ve quite finished, I’ll be taking my leave.” Brienne had turned a lovely shade of red by that point, and Jaime felt his grin grow a bit wider as she sheathes her sword. How she was this embarrassed by their conversation he doesn’t know, but it had been a while since he had seen her this way, worked up and embarrassed about something benign. 

“As you wish, my lady,” Ser Goodwin says, returning to the courtyard and picking up the sword he had dropped a few minutes before. 

“Will you walk me back to my chambers?” Brienne’s voice is quiet and calm as she asks the question, her eyes meeting his and Jaime just nods in agreement, as they start their way back to her rooms. 

“My father expects you and Podrick for dinner tonight. In his rooms. Not the hall.” She sounds nervous as she says it and he can see some of the tension that had plagued her the whole journey to Tarth still strumming under her skin. 

“Have you talked to your father yet?” he couldn’t help but ask, remembering their conversation the night before their arrival at the island. 

“I have. He came to me last night, and we talked. He – He is supportive –” she trails off, her hand finding its way to her belly where Jaime can see the tiniest of bumps has started to grow. He swallows thickly, seeing that little mound. That proof of his child growing inside Brienne. Their child. And at that moment the distance between them, the fact that he can’t reach out and touch her because she isn’t his to touch anymore, has his throat close up. Because if he can’t fix this, he won’t be a part of that child’s life either. Just like he hadn’t been for Joffrey or Myrcella or Tommen. 

“That’s good.” Jaime’s voice is a bit shaky as he says it, wrought with the emotions that he is barely able to hide, but Brienne doesn’t seem to notice or opts not to.

They walk the rest of the way to her chambers in silence only their footsteps echoing loudly off the long, stone hallways. When they reach her door, she looks at him again, her bright blue eyes finding his.

“You’ll come, won’t you?” she asks, her voice a bit hesitant as if she isn’t sure whether he’d want to. 

“Of course, I will. I told you I’ll be by your side, Brienne.” She gives him a small smile and opens the door behind her, slipping into her rooms one backwards step at a time.

“Good. I’ll see you then. A servant will come and fetch you.” Then she closes the door, shutting him out, leaving him in the hallway. It feels wrong standing there, on the other side of this door, when they had already shared so much more. Had shared everything.  _And whose fault is it that you are standing out here, instead of being in there with her. Snap out of it, you utter fool._

Jaime sighs and turns in the direction of his own chambers, clambering down hallways and staircases. He is in need of a change of clothes if he is going to meet Brienne’s father tonight. Though whether he'll meet her father or the Evenstar remains to be seen. 

It isn’t long after Jaime has finished redressing that the promised servant comes to fetch him, leading him along more winding hallways and up staircases that he hasn’t seen so far or doesn’t recognise. At the end of another one of these long corridors, a set of grand double doors await him, and moments later he is ushered into the Evenstar’s solar, where Brienne and her father are already deep in conversation. There is a smile tugging at her lips as they speak and Jaime can see that the tension and apprehension, she had felt towards her reunion with her father, has completely melted away, leaving her almost comfortable in her own skin, or so it seems. 

Her father’s hand is on her forearm as he explains something to her while he holds a goblet Jaime presumes to be filled with wine, in the other. Both of them are so wrapped up in their conversation that it takes the servant announcing his presence for them to even notice his entering.

After a formal round of greetings and Podrick’s arrival to complete their gathering, they settled down at the table where the food had already been served and for a while the only sounds in the room where those of eating. 

Jaime had just spooned another helping of a fish dish local to the island onto his plate when the Evenstar turns towards him, a look in his eyes that Jaime can’t place.

“I’ve been wondering, Ser Jaime. You must have been quite the charmer, seeing as the world only knows you as the Kingslayer and an Oathbreaker and yet my daughter never uttered an ill word about you ever since she arrived here.” Jaime grabs hold of the fabric of his breeches the moment the words leave Selwyn Tarth’s mouth, and he glances over at Brienne, sitting opposite him, seeing the tell-tale blotches of red appear on her cheeks. She is clearly embarrassed by her father’s words, but Jaime doesn’t like where this conversation might lead.

“Has she now.” He teases, and he can see the red blotches on Brienne’s cheeks travel further down her neck. If he needles her a bit more, he knows that blush of hers would spread farther down, past the strong columns of her neck and her collarbone.

“And not only that, if I recall correctly, she was your captor, tasked by the late Lady Catelyn to escort you to King’s Landing and now you are sitting at my table. How you got from there to here must be a most interesting story.” The Evenstar’s voice is even and measured as he seizes Jaime up. His hand has gripped the fabric of his breeches tighter, but he is smiling nonetheless.

“Oh, I was quite charming in the start wasn’t I, my lady.” His voice is light, with a little lilt in it as he looks over at Brienne, who flushes even deeper as her eyes grow a bit sterner.

“I can’t seem to recall. All I remember is the first thing you said to me on that journey was that I looked uglier in daylight. Sometime later, it was something along the lines of that I was as boring as I was ugly.” Jaime’s smile grows sheepish at her answer, and he can see her father raise an amused eyebrow from the corner of his eyes. He turns towards the Evenstar, feeling familiar blue eyes trained on him.

“A fool, that was what I was back then, but thankfully under Brienne’s consistent tutelage, I learned to better myself.” Brienne opposite him is rolling her eyes and letting out a longsuffering sigh, still not happy with his answer. 

“Jaime, that’s not what happened,” she says in a tight voice, and he knows she is close to being done with him. With his antics, but the grip on his breeches still hasn’t loosened.

“It wasn’t?” he asks innocently, knowing he is infuriating her even more. She is going to snap any moment now, and that will be it. 

“No, and you very well know it. Now stop with the games.” There it is. Now they can go back to just eating in silence and leave the damn talk about how he managed to garner her favour to another time. Preferably never. 

“Pardon me, my lord. We tend to get into these verbal sparring sessions. It often can’t be helped.” Jaime is looking at her father and shrugging as if this sort of behaviour is typical for them and as he utters the last sentence, Brienne kicks him under the table for good measure. Jaime has a hard time suppressing the yelp that wants to escape him, more from surprise than actual pain, but as he glances over at Brienne, she seems satisfied with her little revenge plot, shooting him a meaningful look that clearly tells him to shut up this instance or she will have his head. 

“So, what really happened then?” her father asks into the ensuing silence, seemingly still unaware that neither he nor Brienne really want to talk about this. Talk about Locke and how he lost his hand. About an oath and the endless time they had spent on opposite sides of the same war. And suddenly his left hand is gripping the fabric of his breeches again, and he feels sick. 

“I don’t think that’s a story for the dinner table father.” Brienne’s voice is soft when she speaks, and Jaime can’t help but meet her gaze across the table. And there, in those deep blue pools, it is clearly written.  _I know. Don’t worry._

The smile that tugs at his lips is private and small and just for her. A silent  _thank you_ that can’t be said out loud but needs to be shown. 

“Good. If you say so. Ser Jaime, will you meet me on the morrow in my study to continue this talk, without my daughter, so any further verbal sparring can be evaded?” He had known this would come. Had thought that at some point he would have to face her father alone. He hadn’t thought it would be so soon after their arrival and he doesn’t know whether he is prepared to explain everything that will need explaining. Doesn’t know whether he is ready. But ready or not, he is here now, willing to take the plunge. For her.

“It would be an honour, my lord.” His voice is steady and level as he accepts the invitation, but the grip on his breeches still hasn’t loosened. Good thing he isn’t hungry anymore, anyways.

Dinner after that goes smoothly, though Jaime’s eyes keep wandering over to Brienne and the way she looks at her father and at Podrick. She is proud of the young man, and the love she has for her father is clearly written on her face, and every so often Jaime would catch Selwyn with an amused raised eyebrow as Brienne is relaying something or other, and his heart aches because he couldn’t remember the last time he had seen her this happy. Maybe back at Winterfell the night of the feast, but he swallows and pushes that thought away, choosing not to think of what had been. His hand though keeps his tight grip on the rough wool, not letting go. 

The next morning before he is due to meet the Evenstar Jaime heads down to the training yard hoping to thrash some training dummy or another when he happens upon Podrick going through his movements on his own. Jaime leans against a column at the edge of the training yard and studies young man. He is still a bit unrefined here and there, but the Podrick undoubtedly had proven his worth in the battle for the dawn.

“In for a bout? A real one? I won’t go easy on you like Brienne sometimes does.” Jaime calls out to Podrick when he has finished his next set of moves. Brienne’s squire startles but as he turns around and sees Jaime leaning against the column, something shifts in his expression and Jaime has to suppress a sigh.  _This again._

“If it pleases you, ser.” The boy answers amicably and way too polite, and Jaime is barely able to contain himself at the insolence of Podrick’s behaviour. The boy is a fumbling, stumbling mess most of the time, and still, he somehow manages to look at Jaime and not stutter or search for words even once. The grudge the younger man is harbouring against him must be enormous for the courage it has given him. Not that he is ever impolite, no, far from it, which made it all the more infuriating. No, Podrick is always awfully polite yet curt, uttering only as many words as necessary and it is getting on Jaime’s nerve. Topped off with the sleepless night and his impending doom in the form of his conversation with the Evenstar, Jaime is sure that asking Podrick to spar might have not been the wisest decision. 

Surprisingly enough the sparring itself goes over fairly smoothly. Steel meets steel as it should, and the few times Jaime does get whacked with the tourney sword it seems to be an accident rather than a planned attempt at getting back at him. And if anything, having Podrick on his arse in the dust several times does make up for it, if it had been. 

By the time Jaime calls it a day, both of them have worked up a good sweat and Podrick is once more sitting on his arse on the dusty ground. Jaime offers the younger man a hand up, but the boy studiously ignores him and gets up on his own, trudging over to the nearby bench for a break. Jaime, once more annoyed by Podrick’s behaviour, follows, sitting down next to him, trying another peace offering by passing the younger man the skin of water he had brought down, but just as before Podrick chooses to ignore him. That’s when Jaime has finally had enough and broaches the unspoken topic hanging between them ever since the day they had escaped from King’s Landing’s burning ruins.   

“What do you think this behaviour will get you, young man?” His voice is still level and composed when he asks the question, but he can feel the anger that has started simmering under his skin. It’s there in the twitch of his fingers around the water skin that he is still holding out and the raise of his eyebrow, but Podrick seems unfazed.

“I don’t know what you mean. Ser.” Jaime’s hand clenches, his knuckles going white, and he takes a deep breath. No, it wouldn’t do to yell at the boy. All that would achieve is make him look like a fool.

“I mean exactly that. Your over-courteous behaviour laced with a fine thread of contempt. It’s out of place, and frankly, I’ve had enough of it.” Had enough seemed to have been the magic words because suddenly Podrick’s calm and neutral expression melts away, giving way to something harder, stern as the younger man’s eyes grow colder. Those eyes are now trained on Jaime. 

“I have tried to be civil for m’lady, but–“ He swallows overcome by emotions, and when he looks back up there is a fire in his eyes, red-hot and flaming that Jaime has never seen there before. “You’ve had enough of it? Of this? Of me trying to be civil, courteous even, after everything you’ve done to her?” There is absolutely no doubt who he means by her and Jaime is shocked for a moment by the emotional outburst. But then again, he shouldn’t be. The boy had taken to Brienne like a sunflower to sunlight, and just as she had grown protective of him, he had become protective of her. Still, having Podrick raise his voice in her defence, not stumbling over his words or stuttering like he usually did was so out of character for the mellow young man.

But Podrick wasn’t done with him yet, it seemed like he had only gotten started. “How can you sit there and play like everything is fine. Like it never happened. But then again you didn’t see how she suffered because you weren’t there. You weren’t there when she cried herself to sleep for days on end after you left. You weren’t there when she put on a brave face for everyone else and went and did her duty. You weren’t there when we rode to King’s Landing, the fear in her eyes growing every day. You weren’t there when she cradled Oathkeeper every day after she woke up, torn as she was between what had happened and the feelings, she still had for you. You weren’t there. Because you left her for your  _sister_.” The last word is said with gusto, spat at him like the curse it is and has Jaime on his feet, standing right in front of Podrick who had gotten up as well as he had listed all the ways Brienne had been hurt because of him. But the younger man just looks up at him in defiance, breathing heavily after his tirade.

“I wasn’t there because I had to do it. I had to go to King’s Landing. And after I wasn’t there because she didn’t want me there as you well know, because you were the one who had me escorted back to the tent where I was held prisoner,” he growls, his teeth clenched as he tries to rein in his temper, because it still wasn’t a good idea to completely lose it. But as they are at it now, deep and down and dirty, there is something else he needs to get off his chest.

“And don’t play all high and mighty when you, her trusted squire, the one who saved her from the Red Keep, couldn’t even be bothered to tell her what had happened that day. No, she had to learn that from me, during my fucking trial.” But his control is slipping as he spits the words at Podrick, jamming his forefinger into the younger man’s chest. 

“I tried to tell her. Not for you, but to ease her turmoil, but she wouldn’t listen. All she ever did was look at Oathkeeper, but as soon as I so much as mentioned your name, she would tell me no,” Podrick yells back at him, and in a second Jaime’s finger that had been digging into the other man’s chest is falling to his side. 

“I didn’t know. I’m sorry, Podrick.” His voice is almost meek, the anger and frustration seeping away in an instant, and he is only left with a weird feeling settling deep in his stomach. But as much as Jaime is surprised by Podrick’s revelation, the younger man seems just as stunned by Jaime’s words of apology and Jaime sees this as his chance. After they had both yelled at each other, given air to everything they had both seemed to have bottled up over the past few weeks for Brienne’s sake, it is now time to find common ground. For Brienne’s sake, if not for their own. 

“And just so you know. I never meant to hurt her. I know this sounds stupid considering what you just told me, but when I left, I felt it the best way to go about it, because I had to leave. Every day since I felt what I lost that day, Podrick. Every day. I’m not here playing at it never having happened, I’m here trying to fix it.” Jaime swallows and meets Podrick’s gaze, which is still somewhat stern, if way less so then before, so he decides to continue. “You care for her, just as I care for her and I want nothing but the best for her, believe me. I’m here to pay my penance. To show her that she can still trust me after everything that’s happened and that I want to be part of her life in whichever way she deems proper and you are part of her life, Podrick.” He stops there for a second mulling over how to continue, unable to find the right words, to explain that he wants them to get along even just so Brienne would be happy. But Podrick beats him to it, far more preceptive than Jaime had anticipated. 

“Truce?” Podrick asks, holding out his hand and Jaime’s throat closes up, reminded uncannily of his own proposition for a truce with Brienne years ago. 

“Yes,” Jaime smiles and takes Podrick’s offered hand, seeing the beginnings of a smile tugging at the corner of the younger man’s lips as well and it feels like a small step back to normality. 

After their hesitant truce, Podrick and Jaime share a quick drink of water before he heads up to his rooms to freshen up to get ready for his meeting with the Evenstar.

This time he is directed to Lord Selwyn’s study, and as Jaime knocks on another set of double doors, he can hear a rumbling voice bidding him inside. 

The study turns out to be more of a library, with shelves upon shelves with heavy-looking leather-clad books and old scrolls cramped into every available corner. In the middle of the room, in front of a set of windows overlooking the rough sea outside, sits Lord Selwyn Tarth still engrossed in the composition of a letter. The way the Lord of Tarth sits at his desk, his eyes focused on the task at hand eerily reminds Jaime of his own father, though Selwyn Tarth is the furthest away one could be from Tywin Lannister by what he had seen of the man so far. 

His blue eyes, an echo of Brienne’s own in a few shades lighter, are welcoming and warm instead of cold and distant and though the Evenstar does look imposing, board and tall as he is, Jaime doesn’t feel the same threat emanating from him as he had from his own father. 

“Ah, Ser Jaime. Take a seat. As I recall, there is much we need to talk about.” His address is formal, less laced with warmth and amusement than it had been last night when Brienne had been there, but that had to be expected, seeing as he was now dealing with the infamous Kingslayer and Jaime feels the muscles in his shoulder stiffen slightly as he takes the seat in front of Selwyn Tarth.

“Where shall we begin?” Selwyn looks at Jaime intently, his eyebrow raised in question, but Jaime can’t answer as his hand grasps the fabric of his breeches under the desk as he waits. _Where shall we begin?_ Such an easy question with so many possibilities.

“Maybe at the beginning then?” The voice of the Lord of Tarth is even, measured as he says this as if it is nothing out of the ordinary. As if Jaime’s future doesn’t hinge on the answer to that question.

“I know of yours and my daughter’s capture, of course, what with the ransom demand I got but not much else. So why don’t you enlighten me on how these events came to pass and how Brienne came to King’s Landing without a ransom ever being paid. At least by me.” The Lord of Tarth is entirely at ease as he keeps his gaze focused on Jaime, waiting expectantly.  

Jaime swallows again, closes his eyes for a beat, before telling him about being a prisoner to the Starks after the Whispering Woods for the better part of a year. Tells him how he was set free by Lady Catelyn, to be escorted back to King’s Landing by Brienne in exchange for the Stark girls, Sansa and Arya.

He falters for a moment, unsure what to say, how to explain his and Brienne’s relationship, when all he did was antagonise her, throw quips and taunts at her for his own amusement which had ultimately gotten them captured just as much as Brienne’s honour had.

“The truth, Ser Jaime. I don’t need flattering words, and I don’t think Brienne needs them either. Give it to me straight.” The Evenstar’s eyes are earnest but hard.

“I – I was horrible to her those first few days. What she said yesterday was true.” His voice breaks away, unhappy with this particular truth, but all Lord Selwyn does is nod, as if the whole purpose of the question had been for Jaime to confirm what he had already known.

“I was determined to get back to King’s Landing, preferably without her, driven as I was with a blind need, going even so far as purposefully antagonising her at every turn. That is what ultimately got us captured.” He takes another breath before he continues, “eventually they brought us to Harrenhal where Roose Bolton made sure I was escorted back to King’s Landing, but as you know, promised that Locke could keep Brienne as his prisoner. I went on my way, but we were barely half a day out of Harrenhal when I convinced the men to go back. By the time we arrived back at the ruins of the castle, they had thrown Brienne into a bear pit with a wooden sword and nothing else. I got her out much to Locke’s anger, and we went on our way to King’s Landing.” The shrewd look in Lord Selwyn’s eyes tells Jaime that the other man knows there is more to it than that as his gaze wanders to where Jaime’s stump is resting on the armrest of the chair before focusing back on his face and Jaime steels himself for the inevitable question to come.

“How did that happen then? Brienne said you lost it for helping her while you two were in the hands of those Brave Companions, but she wouldn’t say more.” Of course, she hadn’t. Brienne wouldn’t tell his story and most of all, not this part of it. But now it is on him to struggle through explaining to her father how his daughter almost got raped and how he had saved her from that fate with a lie. He tells Lord Selwyn about Aerys and his wife. About listening to her being raped and not being able to do anything about it and how, when they had hauled Brienne away, kicking and screaming, he knew that he had to do something.

“I told Locke Tarth was full of sapphires. I told him that Brienne’s weight would be paid in sapphires for her safe and unharmed return. That got his attention, and Brienne returned unharmed and honour still intact, save for a few scrapes and bruises.”

“What he didn’t like was me getting cocky with him. And I, in return, lost my hand for it and was thereafter deemed their entertainment. It was all incredibly amusing, especially for Brienne whom they had clean up after me.” Sarcasm was dripping heavily from Jaime’s voice.

“So, in all honesty, if it weren’t for Brienne, I probably wouldn’t be here. She got me back to Harrenhal alive, rather than lying dead and abandoned at a roadside on our way there.” Jamie’s teeth are clenched at this point, as unwanted memories flood back and he feels an itch where his hand used to be. But Lord Selwyn only nods, as if that’s enough. With his own family, Jaime would have doubted the sincerity of that gesture saying, “you have said enough. It’s all right.” But with Selwyn Tarth he believes it. Because this isn’t for his own gain, but for his family’s.

After this, it gets easier as Jaime tells the rest of the story. Of how he ended up aiding Brienne in their once shared quest for the Stark girls and the fleeting moments shared in Riverrun and the Council in the Dragon Pit. Of how he rode North to fight for the Living, knighted and fought beside Brienne and in the end was drawn back to King’s Landing and his sister and how he ultimately ended up killing her just like he had Aerys. 

Jaime can see the surprise flit over Selwyn Tarth’s face as he tells that particular part of the story. About the wildfire and both Cersei and Aerys wanting to burn the city to the ground.

Once he is finished, Jaime can see the questions lurking in those blue eyes, and he is interested to see which will come forth first. What he doesn’t expect is for the Evenstar to just take what he has just heard and not question it in the least and instead latch onto something else.

“So, you were in the Kingsguard under Aerys and Robert and later rose to become Lord Commander. I can’t see your father being very pleased with that. I know I wouldn’t be if that were what Brienne would choose.” His voice is calm and inquisitive, the curiosity Jaime had seen in his eyes reigned back in.

“No, he wasn’t. He wanted me to be Heir to Casterly Rock and marry and have children. He tried to get me out several times over the years.” A slight nod is the only acknowledgement Jaime gets for his answer before the Evenstar takes his inquires further.

“Now that you are free of your vows, is there any appeal to what your father wanted for you?” Jaime starts fiddling with the fabric of his breeches again, as he feels the tension returning to the conversation.

“Yes, though one could argue that I’m doing things rather backwards.” Lord Selwyn raises an eyebrow at that particular answer and Jaime isn’t certain whether he is cross or amused.

“Any notion of going to claim Casterly Rock for your own anytime soon?”

“No, my brother Tyrion is now Lord of the Rock, I was stripped of all my rights to it after the Battle of King’s Landing, and I can’t say I’m sorry about it.” The words are out of his mouth before he has time to stop them, and he wants to berate himself.

“No? Not keen about the duties of a lord?” Lord Selwyn’s voice has grown a fraction colder, and Jaime realises he has to tread carefully now.

“No, it’s not that, but rather that I have not been at home there for a long time and recently it has come to my attention that rather than stone it is more about the people you surround yourself with.”

“So, you do know how to run an estate?”

“My father taught me when I was younger, always preparing me for taking over the Rock when I grew older, but I have been away from a young age as a squire. Being knighted and appointed to the Kingsguard have also cut my training short. But one could still argue that I did experience how the kingdoms were run. Though I’d have to say I saw more of how not to do it.” The Evenstar laughs. It’s unexpected, more so because Jaime has been looking at his hand, eyebrows knitted, when the sound comes bursting forth into the silence of the room. It’s a dry humourless laugh that is gone as quickly as it came.

“Well, that’s one way to put it. Aerys certainly was mad and Robert a drunkard, Joffrey didn’t last that long and while Tommen tried his best, he was still very young. And let’s not get into the topic of your sister’s reign, shall we.”

“Let’s not.” Jaime’s voice is tight, and his jaw clenched.

“Good.” Lord Selwyn pauses for a beat, studying Jaime across the table. “I take it then that you would be able to manage. Passing judgement, sitting council, managing stocks and trade.” It’s a statement, not a question.

“I would be, but I don’t see how that is of any relevance. If I were to stay and marry Brienne, it still wouldn’t be my place to do so. This is her home, her people, her island. I would help her in everything she would need me to, but I would not sit my arse down on her chair and claim what is rightfully hers.” There is a spark of surprise in the Lord of Tarth’s eyes by the time Jaime has finished talking.

After that Selwyn deems it necessary to put Jaime’s words to the test, asking question upon question about the management and uphold of a castle and its lands. Jaime is quick to answer, his tongue sharp, and his replies honest and extensive. If he wouldn’t know better Jaime would have said that Selwyn Tarth might have been a bit impressed with his insight by his quirked eyebrow and that slight tug at the corner of his lips.

At some point, Selwyn had sent for some lemon water and a platter of fruits, seeing as their conversation had carried on longer than either of them seemed to have anticipated.

The Evenstar had just taken another drink from his goblet and Jaime had popped another grape into his mouth, savouring the sweet yet slightly sour taste, when another question is directed at him.

“I do have to ask one more thing. How did you come to regard my daughter in the way you do?”

“I didn’t at first, as you know. I was led by my own agenda. My own gain, which led me to be cruel towards her, easy as it was to jap and quip about her looks and morals.” Jaime doesn’t avert his eyes this time as he says this.

“What changed?“

“Everything.” He pauses. “After I lost my hand, we struck up a sort of tentative truce born out of a newfound respect I gained from her after telling her about Aerys. We still quarrelled, but it had been so much part of our relationship that it would have been quite out of place for it to suddenly not be there, but the sting was gone. Rather than trying to wound or hurt, it became our way of arguing. She just–” _found her way into my heart at some point without me noticing. Because she was there, gentle though she is strong. Kind though she can be callous and cruel as well. Innocent even though I have seen her kill men without a second’s hesitation. I have never known someone like her. Someone so gentle, especially towards me, whom she had despised._ But how could he say those words without looking like a fool. Thus, Jaime shrugs, leaving the sentence unfinished. His emotions and thoughts though must have been visible on his face.

“You love her then?” the Evenstar asks, his voice still calm, but Jaime is taken aback by the straightforwardness of it, and he has to swallow thickly. _Of course, I do. Of fucking course, I do._ And when his gaze meets Selwyn Tarth’s he knows he can’t lie. There is no use in it. He knows. Denying it would be foolish.

“Yes, I do,” Jaime answers, his voice strong and earnest, leaving no room to question his intent, because there is no hesitation and finally acknowledging it, saying it out loud, feels like freedom, he only hopes, that it will be enough. That he will be enough.

“Then there is only one thing for you to do.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not even going to give a speech anymore because it is what it is.
> 
> Still, all the love to everyone out there still reading this story leaving comments and kudos, bookmarking and subscribing. It truly means the world to me.
> 
> And thank you to supper-party for being my partner in crime.

The wind rustles in the barleys, directing an intricate play of light and shadows over the colourful forest ground. Far of in the distance, Jaime can hear the sea crash against the high rocky cliffs with the breeze carrying the salty tang of the open water with it.

He had gone to see Brienne directly after his conversation with the Evenstar and had found her ready to head out. She had asked him along, leading him off into the wilderness of her island, but now all he sees of her is the vast expanse of her back and the long grey fur-lined cloak covering it as she walks ahead of him, silent.

They had talked about Jaime’s meeting with her father before he had mentioned that they had talked about her as well and she had fallen silent, strutting ahead, her arms crossed over her chest. Now there is nothing left to him but to marvel at the beauty of his surroundings.

Jaime is so caught up in studying his scenery, the trees dressed in every colour and the occasional bloom still showing off colourful petals by his feet, that before he even realises what Brienne is doing, she has led him off the small trodden path they had been following and into the underbrush. Branches snap at them, and thorns tear at their clothes and skin, but Brienne isn’t deterred by the battle nature is putting up against her and pushes through, Jaime hot on her heels. 

The meadow comes unexpectedly. One moment he is fighting with a particularly nasty bush that had several thorns dug into his skin and the next he is standing on a small open clearing littered with blue flowers still in bloom. Jaime had seen those flowers before, clinging to the rock face of the cliffs plunging into the sea and spotting the vast planes of grassy hills. They are everywhere. Even now, in winter, and at the most unlikely places for flowers to bloom. 

Brienne has already settled down in the meadow, picking a spot far enough away from the treeline that the little bit of sunlight filtering through the grey clouds could find her. Once upon a time, Jaime would have laughed at the image she presented now. The homely Maid of Tarth sitting in a field of blue flowers, but all Jaime can see is a younger, smaller version of Brienne coming here, her hair still long and flowing, racing away from Evenfall Hall to indulge in her dreams.

"So, this is where little Brienne came to dream of becoming a knight," he says while settling down beside her, feeling the lonely rays of sunlight warm his skin as he looked up towards the sun. He glances over at her when she doesn’t answer right away, and he can see the sadness in her eyes, even though she is trying to smile.

"No, this is where little Brienne dreamed of getting married. Of a man that would love her and the children, she would give him. Of a family of her own. But that was before–" she trails off, but Jaime knows. She had told him about her old septa and the feast her father had held back at Winterfell. She had laid next to him that evening, curled up and her head resting on his chest as she had told him about the boys whispering behind her back. About her septa telling her no one would ever love her. After he had kissed her and showed her how wrong her Septa had been. How much he loved her. He had come close that night, to tell her, but when he had looked into her blue eyes, he had lost his nerve and had kissed her again, hoping she would understand, would know anyways.

"Why did you come here then?" he asks a bit hesitantly because he doesn't understand why she would do this, come to a place where she dreamed of something that would be torn away so painfully later.

"Because I had to. Because I wanted to." She looks distant, as if she is far away when she says it. As if she is already away in her thoughts, but he doesn’t understand why she would do this. Come here and inflict pain like that on herself. 

"But why?" he, therefore, asks again, but Brienne doesn't answer. She is far away, he can see, deep in her thoughts as she looks at the swaying barleys. But Jaime just doesn’t understand.  _Why would she do this to herself? And why would she bring me?_  

Soon, Jaime is fed up with pondering these thoughts and goes to stroll along the perimeter of the meadow as Brienne keeps sitting in her spot. She had taken up plucking grass and worrying it between her fingers before the sad blades disintegrated from her rigorous assault, smearing her thumb and forefinger with green smudges. 

She still hadn't moved by the time Jaime has become sick of pacing the meadow like a caged animal as well and flops back down beside her once more. She doesn’t even seem to take any notice of him except for a quick glance she throws at him before going back to looking at the swaying barleys. 

In want of anything better to do, Jaime starts plucking up grass as well until his fingers close around the stem of one of the blue flowers. He twirls the blossom between his thumb and forefinger, sending the soft petals fluttering. It is astonishingly blue, just like the waters surrounding the island it grows on. It is pretty, not as astonishingly beautiful as the winter roses from up north, but pretty none the less. But apart from its pretty blossom Jaime soon discovers that the flower is feisty as well because as he goes to pluck up another one, he is viciously pricked by a thorny leave growing at the bottom of the stem. He sucks up the little drop of blood that has bloomed on the tip of his finger while strolling through the meadow in search of another blossom. And another, and another until he has a whole handful of the flowers picked. 

When he looks over his shoulder to where he had left Brienne, she still hasn’t moved. Flowers in hand, he wanders back over to her spot and sits down once more, laying his prize by his feet as he studies Brienne for a moment to see how she was doing with her thoughts. She had finally stopped assaulting the poor grass but had taken up biting her bottom lip instead, which already looked red and puffy. He would have to stop her soon lest she gnaws her lip red and bloody, but for the meantime, he lets her be and starts fiddling with the flowers once more. He is so in his thoughts as well, thinking of Brienne and what they are doing here and why she would bring him if all she wanted to do is stare at trees, that he doesn’t even notice what his hand and stump are doing. So, when he looks at his hand and finds a haphazard coronet of the blue flowers weaved together, he is stunned and a bit gobsmacked. Why had he done this and more importantly, how did he even know how?

And suddenly he remembers that he had done this before when he was young. He had done this for Cersei when they were little before things had become complicated. The flowers had been different. Red, they had always been red, and Cersei had urged him on.  _Faster. Quickly now. A queen needs her crown._  Before she would snatch the completed circlet of flowers from his hands, setting it on her head. With her new crown settled upon her spilling golden curls, she would wander around the gardens, proclaiming to him that she would be queen one day. He remembers how he had smiled at her and laughed with her then, in the gardens of Casterly Rock. Remembers his mother smiling at them both and complimenting Cersei on her lovely crown. They had been happy. All smiles and giddy laughter before she started hating that she couldn’t be like Jaime. Before their mother had died. Before things had gotten complicated.

He looks down at his hands and the different crown that’s lying there. Blue flowers instead of red. And only one hand, instead of the two hands made that had woven Cersei's crowns. 

His first urge is to throw the crown away. To forget he ever made it in the hopes that with it the memories would fade as well, but the little girl that had worn red flowers in her hair wasn't the woman Cersei had been in the end. Then, when their mother had still been alive, she had been innocent and sometimes even sweet. She had always been Cersei, but Jaime had loved her. Had loved her then as he had for many years. And while the woman she had become was someone Jaime still struggles to come to terms with, his sister would always be there, a part of him, that he could never undo or forget. Not entirely. 

"Jaime?" He is jarred out of his thoughts by Brienne’s soft voice, and for a second it’s hard for him to grasp that she has indeed spoken to him after all the time they had just spent sitting next to each other without saying a word.  

A tentative hand reaches over to where the woven coronet of flowers still rests on his stump and hand, and he can see a myriad of emotions flitting over her face, gone too fast to be sure what they might have been. 

"Do you know what these are?" She touches one of the blue blossoms, her expression guarded, apprehensive as she directs her gaze to his, blue eyes meeting his green ones.

"No, I wondered, though. I've seen them all over the place." She nods, fingering the flowers and Jaime isn’t sure of what might come next. 

"Iron Maidens." Her voice is soft and low when she utters the blossoms name, and all Jaime wants to do is laugh at the absurdity of the name, the irony of Brienne, the Maid of Tarth, coming from an island that had a flower called Iron Maiden.

"You must have worn them a lot then. You being the Maid of Tarth, the pinnacle of chasteness and propriety." Jaime chuckles picturing Brienne wearing a coronet of blue flowers in her hair just like the one he is holding, but when he glances over to her, she isn't smiling at his quip. She is biting her lower lip, a clear sign of the emotions roiling under the surface that she is trying to rein in, and her eyes are closed.  

"I wore them often enough, that much is true." Her voice is bitter and cold, and Jaime instantly knows that he has found another one of those wounds, those memories of days gone by, she would rather forget then dwell on. "But not because I ever wanted to." 

"They had the flowers woven into my hair. Had me wear these crowns not just at feasts or balls like every other young maid does here on Tarth. No, I had to wear them as often as possible parading around my maiden status as if that would change anything. I was still a beast, and no one looked at me twice. And if they did, it was only to sneer at me. A bunch of flowers in my hair didn’t change that." She stares at the flowers as if they might go up in flames if she only tried hard enough, but they stay whole in Jaime’s hand until she looks away. He can still see the emotions running through her in the tenseness in her shoulders and the lines between her eyebrows.  

"You do have an awful history with flowers, don't you?" he says, matter-of-factly, a small smile playing around his lips and when he hears a small chuckle escape Brienne and some of the tension eases from her shoulder he is relieved. She looks over at him, a tentative smile on her own lips.

"I suppose I do. Roses, these." She poignantly looks at the flowers in his hand, but there is a hint of humour in her voice.

"Good thing you won't ever have to wear them again then." Jaime grins and lifting his eyebrow which has Brienne blush once more, though it's just a touch of colour to the apples of her cheeks this time as he takes the flower circlet and chucks it behind their backs. 

Brienne laughs, and Jaime gives her one of his smiles as he offers her his hand to get up from the ground. They should be heading back as the sun had been steadily sinking and the cold had started, settling into his bones as they had sat on the grass. 

"Ready to go home?" he asks as she looks up at his offered hand. She nods her smile still on her lips as she takes the offered hand and leads him out of the clearing. 

They are halfway back to Evenfall Hall when she turns to him. "Will you come down to the training yard tomorrow morning and spar with me?" She looks at him expectantly, eyes bright in the fading light and her cheeks rosy from the harsh wind coming in from the sea. But Jaime is torn. Of course, he wants to, he had delighted in the privilege of being her sparring partner back in Winterfell and even more so when he had regained that status back in King's Landing, but now with her bump growing a little bit bigger every day, he is hesitant.  

He feels like she shouldn't be sparring anymore. Like it would be too dangerous if she got hit the wrong way, took an awkward fall or stumbled badly. He couldn't bear the thought of risking their child like that. But he couldn't tell her no, couldn't tell her she shouldn't do it. It was her decision to make not his, and he had no say in any of them. He had given away that privilege the night he had left Winterfell just like so many other things.

"If it pleases you, my lady." He tries for a bit of a teasing tone in his voice as he answers, trying to mask the thoughts running wild in his head, but Brienne doesn't seem to notice. She just huffs, for once annoyed with him that standard courtesy as an answer, but there is a smile playing around her lips again. For his part, Jaime is only grateful that she hadn’t picked up on his thoughts. He would just have to be careful. At least if she sparred with him, he knew what he might deal her, how much she might be able to take and if she called him out for coddling her, he'd find another quip or jap to throw at her to make her forget about his lacklustre sparring.

And just like that, they build a routine. Jaime spars with Brienne in the morning before she goes on to train with Pod while Jaime sits on the side-lines observing them. In the afternoons, they often take walks, and Brienne shows him her secret hideouts from when she was a child. Thankfully most of them seem to elicit good memories rather than the melancholy he had witnessed in the meadow. Only the day she takes him up onto a cliff overlooking the sea roiling and roaring beneath them holds a similar kind of sadness. 

For a long time, Brienne just sits there in silence, looking out over the rough sea capped in white foam, before she looks at him with her blue eyes, filled with sadness, and tells him the story of how her brother had died. How they had been jumping off this very cliff to swim in the warm salty waters below, just like they had so many times before until something hadn't been like always. She had pulled her brother from the sea that day, back onto the little beach where they had been lazing about only minutes before but Galladon had stopped breathing by then, and nothing she had done had given life back to her brother. She had been so young back then, alone and afraid with her dead brother lying in her arms until her father and his men had found her, cold and shaking, well past sunset, Galladon still clutched to her chest. 

Jaime wants to reach out to her, wants to give her comfort after she has told him, but before he can make up his mind Brienne is on her feet, seemingly unfazed by the retelling of her brother’s passing but he can see the little lines, the soft almost imperceptible wobble of her chin as she clutches her arms around herself and heads off back towards her home and the arms of her father instead of Jaime's.

On the days that they don't go for their customary walk, Jaime meets her in the evenings after supper. Sometimes they stroll through the gardens, but more often than not they end up at Brienne's table, a pitcher of wine or ale between them, though Brienne refuses to touch it while talking the night away. They had never gotten the chance to talk much. In the Riverlands they hadn’t been in the right place in their relationship and in King’s Landing, after their trek, Jaime had been preoccupied with other things. Cersei things. Family things. Later there had never been the chance, and even in Winterfell, they had often spent their days apart, working to restore the castle back to a more habitable state, only ever sharing softly whispered words in the night, as they lay tugged under the sheets. 

Now though they have time and Brienne talks a lot about Tarth and growing up on the island, its lands and holdings and its history. Jaime listens and smiles at the stories of her childhood and tells her about some of his more cherished memories from his youth as well. But it's not just their childhood they talk about. It is so much more, and it's like learning her anew, all over again. Discovering a different side to her, a different plane that had been hidden from him before. 

But soon their idyllic routine gets interrupted.

It’s just another morning in the training yard, both of them with their sword in their hands, but he has been gentle with her for days now. His attacks weak and barely there at times, always worried that he will go too hard on her. That something will happen if he isn’t careful enough. But it seems that today is the day that Brienne is finally done with his coddling. Her face is red with anger. He knows because she has barely worked up a sweat during their sparring session these days even though she is with child and her movements have become restricted and slower.

“What the hell do you think you are doing?” If she could, she would have thrown Oathkeeper to the ground, Jaime is sure, but the sword is too precious to her, so instead, she just flexes her grip around the golden hilt.

“Nothing.”

“Oh, don’t give me that. You haven’t been sparring with me for days. You have been slacking. Your attacks are weak. Your parries quick and efficient. It feels like this is so beneath you, you don’t even try anymore.” Brienne’s voice has grown louder, echoing off the yard’s stone walls as she advances on him, her blue eyes piercing.

“That’s not it, and you know it.” He says through clenched teeth, trying to keep himself in check.

“What is it then?” Brienne is towering over him now with that spare inch or two she has on him, and he has to look up to meet her eyes.

“I’m scared. I’m scared that I’ll hurt you because that’s my child growing inside you.” The words are out of his mouth before he has even registered what he is saying, his voice equally as loud as hers had been before.

For a beat afterwards there is only silence in the training yard, the words hanging between them loud even in the now reigning silence and he wants to take them back. But then Brienne’s voice fills the quiet, soft and maybe even a bit astonished with his outbreak. “Jaime.”

“No, no, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I shouldn’t have gotten loud. I–” he trails off, unsure, averting his gaze.

“Jaime, it’s okay.” The anger previously present in Brienne’s voice has completely melted away, and he has to look up at her as she says his name, unable to resist, and as his eyes travel to meet hers, he sees that her hand has come to rest over her growing belly.

“It’s okay,” she repeats, trying for a soft smile as she lets the silence return, circling her hand over her bump and he has to flex his fingers around his own sword, weary of what she will say next. 

“Maybe I shouldn’t be sparring, but I talked to the maester, and he said it should be alright, even though he is also a bit uncertain, seeing as there are not many women who like to take up a sword on a regular basis, or so he told me.” She looks a bit amused for a second, one eyebrow raised as she tells him about her father’s maester, but her expression grows sombre again quickly. “Still, maybe you are right. Maybe I shouldn’t be sparring anymore.”

“Oh, okay, that’s – that’s good. Still, I’m sorry I shouldn’t have–” he starts, but Brienne cuts him off.

“No, you shouldn’t have, but I know now, and that’s just as well.”

“But you won’t stop, will you?” He looks at her, his eyes searching out her blue ones, trying to implore her to think about it.

“No.” It’s a statement. Final. Unlikely to budge.

“Brienne.” This time his voice is pleading, but Brienne just looks at him, unwavering.

“I won’t. Not yet. I know my body Jaime and I can still do it. I won’t be able to in a fortnight or so, so leave me these last few days of freedom.” She looks at him, so full of earnestness that Jaime just nods, even though he is dejected by her refusal to put down her sword till the babe is born.

“But you could start helping training Pod in the afternoons. I do grow weary sooner that I used to and that would be a relieve.” It’s a compromise, Jaime recons, relieving her of some of the fighting she does daily, but he still isn’t entirely comfortable with her keeping that sword in her hand.

“Of course. But please Brienne, be careful.” He has to say it. Has to tell her again. Show her that he really is worried. For her. For their child.

“I will, I promise. We’ll both be,” she says her voice light, though Jaime knows she means it. Can see in the blue depth of her eyes that what he has told her has rattled her more than she has let on.

True to her word, she doesn’t lay down her sword, and they keep sparring in the mornings, though she does frequently relinquish the active part of training Podrick to him, while she stands at the side-lines of the yard, instructing her young pupil as Jaime and Pod spar.

During those evenings, they all spent together in the training yard, Jaime is grateful for the fact that he and Podrick had talked as it makes for a more relaxed atmosphere. A hand up is gladly taken. An offered water skin accepted with a hint of a smile. One evening it goes so far that Jaime and Podrick both end up sprawled on the dusty ground, both laughing while Brienne towers over them, looking down in utter annoyance, but neither he nor Podrick care.

One day she takes him deep into the sprawling forest, leading him off the trail and into the shrubs, turning left and right as if she sees hidden signs of where to turn that are hidden from his sight. By the end of their trek, Jaime has no sense of direction left. If she chooses to leave him here, he is sure he wouldn’t find his way back to Evenfall Hall. But as they break through the dense underbrush and once more step into a clearing Jaime is speechless all over again with the hidden beauty of Tarth. 

 At the head of the clearing, a waterfall tumbles down from a cliff and into a pool of clear water that sparkles in the sun. More Iron Maidens litter the grass and the barleys are softly swaying in the breeze. 

As they near the pool, a spray of cool water hits his face, and Jaime closes his eyes, savouring the sound of the rushing water and the splashing as it hits the pool beneath. He can feel Brienne's presence beside him, warm and solid, taking in her home just as he is.

When he opens his eyes, he looks over at Brienne, taking in the relaxed expression on her face and the small smile that is tugging at the corner of her lips. She seems happy, content, even with all the hidden memories that still sting. He has seen it every day. How she had grown more comfortable to be back here. How she had started to smile more. How proud her father is of her and how proud she is in turn. He had never seen anything like what Brienne and her father share. Something deep and meaningful and he had begun to understand why his approval or his contempt towards her upon her arrival back on Tarth had sent her into such a frenzy. 

When Brienne opens her eyes and looks at him, that smile still playing around her lips, there is that familiar warmth again, spreading through his veins and reaching into every last inch of his person.

He reaches out for her. Just a tentative move of his hand to hold hers. To share this moment. To tell her he is grateful that she is sharing this with him. That she is letting him be part of this. Of her life. And when she tangles her fingers with his, the warmth spreading through him threatens to overtake him. Consume him, and he can feel the once tentative smile grow. 

They settle in the clearing, away from the spray of the waterfall, basking in the sun that has battled its way through the persistent clouds for once.

For some time they just sit, and talk and Brienne tells him how she used to come here after her brother's drowning because she didn't like going for a swim in the sea anymore. She had found a kind of sanctuary here, out of the eyes of anyone else and no one had ever found her. Not even when she had run away from Evenfall Hall and had camped out here for days. The picture a rugged Brienne dressed in a torn dress, hair already chopped short with a determined and unyielding expression presented, had a smile creep over his face again, but Brienne is quick to reprimand him for it, telling him how it hadn't been fun at all and she had been furious and hurt rather than determined and wilful. 

After her story, Brienne proceeds to bath in the rare sunlight, and Jaime wanders closer to the crystal-clear pool of water only disturbed by the rushing waterfall tumbling off the cliff over his head.

He had shed his cloak, spreading it over the ground so Brienne could lie back on it rather than the damp grass as he had grown way too warm under the beating sun. It had definitely grown warmer, and the wind coming from the sea had seemed less harsh over the last few days, calming the sea. 

"You know, I really think it is growing warmer. Maybe winter is already over." Brienne raised herself up on her arms, looking over at where he is skipping from stone to stone at the edge of the pool.

"Don't be daft, Jaime. It can't be." Jaime can’t make out her expression from where he is currently situated on a stone, but he is sure she is rolling her eyes at his ridiculousness. "And I still think it's quite cold." This time he can clearly see as she pulls her cloak tighter around herself, though Jaime doubts that she Is actually cold and it’s more of a show of defiance. 

"No, it's definitely gotten warmer. I could almost go for a nice little dip in this pool." He grins at her and Brianne shakes her head at him, probably rolling her eyes for good measure as well. 

"Good, go ahead then. I won't keep you from it," she says, waving her hand in a dismissive manner before lying back down on his cloak. He skips to the next rock, but his footing is off, or his boots don't find enough purchase because seconds later Jaime is standing waist-deep in freezing water. 

He must have yelped or let lose another undignified noise as he can see Brienne sitting upright once more, but once she has grasped the extent of the situation and that he isn’t hurt, she can’t hold back her laughter. It’s a nice sound, her laugh when its full of humour and amusement. Loud and happy and joyous and for a second Jaime is startled because he thinks that he has never seen her laugh like that, with all her heart.

He looks at her in mock dismay, flinging little water droplets in her direction that would never reach her as she continues to laugh and soon he is laughing as well. 

When Brienne has regained some of her composure, though she still can’t hide the huge grin on her face, she gets up and walks over to where he is still submerged to the waist in the pool. He can see little drops of water clinging to her hair from the spray of the waterfall, sparkling like diamonds in the sunlight. He swallows thickly as her eyes meet his, and a shiver runs down his spine. 

"Fuck that's cold," he comments, dispersing the heady feeling that had taken hold of him, opting to give her a wry little grin. Brienne just shakes her head at him again but hasn’t stopped smiling either.

"Yes, it is. The water comes from some underground spring. It doesn't even get that much warmer in summer," she tells him all matter of fact, her arms crossed over her chest, resting above the substantial bump of her belly.  

"You could have warned me, you know," Jaime glowers back, but there is no real intent behind it, though another shiver is running down his spine.

"Where would have been the fun in that. I also didn't think you'd actually go through with your threat of going for a quick dip." Brienne is still grinning at him, but she has started biting her bottom lip again. 

"Come on. I don't want you catching a cold staying in there for much longer." And she reaches out her hand for him to take so she can pull him out of the water. Jaime looks at her hand for a second, dumbstruck, before grasping it. The warmth when his hand touches hers is instant and travels all through his arms, sending his skin up in goose pricks as she pulls him up onto the grass.

"Gods, your hand is freezing already. We should head back. You need to get out of these clothes," Brienne says not letting go of his hand and pulling him back to where his cloak is still lying on the ground. He is about to protest, she is pregnant, and he can very well pick up his own damn clothes, but she already has the heavy woollen cloak in her hands, wrapping it around his shoulders, before a word is able to leave his mouth. She rubs his arms for a second, ensuring that he isn’t going to freeze and some warmth returns to his limps, before she once more takes his hand, tangling their fingers and leading him out of the clearing and back towards Evenfall Hall, Jaime presumes.

After that, it's as if the last vestiges of that chasm between them have melted away and even the grandeur and rigidity in her voice fades away, falling back into more informal, familiar patterns. They spar and laugh and throw quips at each other and in instances, it's like nothing ever happened, like nothing ever changed only that he still isn't allowed to call her his, is still not allowed to reach out and touch her whenever he desires. It's the same old torture of knowing what he wants and knowing that he can't have it. It's like the years before their shared time in Winterfell all over again, filled with sleepless, lonely nights only now he knows what it's like to hold her in his arms. 

Brienne grows larger every day, and the little bump from their arrival which she had easily been able to hide under a loose tunic has grown larger by bounds and leaps. There is no way for her to hide it anymore even if she wanted to, as her usually loose tunics have started clinging to the swell of her belly. Soon she'll need to have new ones made, or she'll be out of clothes in no time. 

Though Brienne doesn't seem too worried as she once more places her hand on her belly and a small smile threatens to spill over onto her face.

That is something Jaime has seen happen more and more often lately as they wander along the trodden paths of Tarth or sit here, in her chambers. But today something is different because her smile is almost blinding as it tugs at her lips and her gaze is wistful and warm. She is positively glowing as she rubs her hand over her belly in a circular motion through her tunic and her smile grows even wider. 

“Come here,” she tells him as she looks up to meet his gaze and her eyes are shining, blue and vibrant and filled with countless emotions. Jaime rises uncertainly from his place at the table and walks the few steps that separate them to stand in front of her still befuddled as to what this is all about. Brienne reaches out her hand as if waiting for him to lay his in hers doesn’t help matters either. 

She lets out an exasperated little huff when he doesn’t move and takes his hand in hers, laying it carefully onto her bump. For a second he is even more confused, unable to properly process what is happening because her hand is still covering his, pressing the palm of his hand against her belly and he can feel the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric of her tunic. But then there is a kick under his palm, and the world comes to a halt. 

Jaime drops to his knees in front of her. Her hand is still covering his, as his stump comes up to cradle her belly as well because he has just felt his child kick against his hand. And Jaime doesn’t know whether he wants to laugh or weep with joy, because that’s his child growing inside Brienne and she has let him touch her. Let him feel that life inside her that is part of both of them. 

Jaime looks up at her, and she swims in front of his eyes, but all he can see is her smile, and all he can feel is her hand on top of his as their child kicks against his hand once more. And at this moment, he loves her more than ever. More than he ever thought he could. More than he ever thought possible. 

Brienne gets up, pushing to her feet and scraping the wooden chair against the floor, jarring the silence that had only been filled with the pounding of his own heart. But she doesn’t let go of his hand. Just like the day at the waterfall, she pulls him up, back to his feet, so they are almost of one height as she looks at him with her impossibly blue eyes.

“Come to bed.” It’s not a question, and Jaime swallows thickly with the gravity of the moment as she leads him to the side of the bed. She hesitates for a moment, biting her bottom lip, her hands still holding his before she reaches out for the lacing of his jerkin. Her nimble fingers tug at the string, pulling it through the countless eyelets until the soft leather finally falls open to reveal his tunic. She pushes the garment of his shoulder, letting it hit the stone floor, before her hands find their way to his chest, resting over his still pounding heart. Her hands are warm through the fabric of his tunic, and the way her hands wander feels familiar and new all the same time.

She pushes him to sit on the bed, and he makes quick work of his boots as she divests herself of her breeches and boots until she is standing in front of him in nothing but her long tunic and smallclothes. Jaime’s heart is picking up pace, pounding away in his chest even faster as he takes in the long expanse of her bare legs and the glorious swell of her belly.  _Beautiful._ That’s all he can think as she stands in front of him. Her cheeks rosy and her eyes blue and bright and trained on him. He knows better than to tell her. Knows better than to utter the word she will never believe, but her reaching out and taking his hand again is enough for now. He will show her. Not today. No, not today, but someday. He will show her again.

He lets her tug him back onto the bed, still clad in his tunic and breeches, as she curls up on her side, pulling him against her back as he throws the covers over them. The weight of her against his chest and the warmth of her slowly seeping into his skin is enough, he thinks. Only she tugs at his hand, slinging it over her waist and letting it come to rest on her belly, her palm against the back of his hand. And even though he is the one cradling her body with his, he feels wrapped up in her. His nose buried in her hair, taking in her scent. Salty and fresh and somehow even a bit floral, but undeniably Brienne. He is overcome with her. By her. Letting him back into her life like this, that the words come tumbling from his lips before he can think better of them.

“Will you marry me, Brienne?”


End file.
